


New Sensations

by Sintina



Series: Your Brain on Ice [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: And more banter, Awkward Sexual Situations, Banter, Beach Sex, Chris Feels, Chris' arms, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Fluff and Smut, Kicked Out of the Bar, M/M, Making Love, Mirror Sex, More Talk of Yuuri's Grindr Account, Not a Virgin Yuuri, Phichit is Happiness, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Humor, Shower Sex, Switching, Victor's never bottomed, Voyeurism, Who's Your Eros?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:11:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9914891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sintina/pseuds/Sintina
Summary: Intimacy is hard.But learning together, often in public places, is fun.Yuuri and Victor share severalfirsts, each chapter, another first, from the GPF Exhibition to St. Petersburg.Prior one-shot fics are foreplay, both emotional and physical, leading to this, the main event!Phicimetti fans:They're in chaps 2-4 and thank you for reading!





	1. Nothing to See Here!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor's never been fingered.  
> Yuri's never done _anything_ in public.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is good for you; let me know how you like it. 
> 
> I use the name spellings from [ English YuriOnIce.com](http://yurionice.com/en/) I love the "uu" and "k", I'm just used to seeing them this way. <3

Yuri settles down. He swallows, lowering himself to sit beside Victor on the bench.

Victor sighs into a smile, lips humming from his lover’s assault. He watches as Eros, so overwhelming moments ago, dissolves from Yuri's eyes, chastened by Agape. Within another breath, Yuri looks scandalized. Though he's attempting to hide it, pressing his cheek to Victor's shoulder, bug eyes unblinking at the ocean. Victor knows the cure for this behavior.

His lips part dark strands of hair, teasing scalp. "Yes, Yuri. You mouth-jousted me to submission," a snake's smile, glancing along the boardwalk, "in front of _all_ these people."

There's a pause in which Yuri goes very still. His gaze sweeps left to right. Baka! He didn’t notice them before. Barcelona is far from empty at 1am. Not just partiers, either. It’s the holiday season and tourists from colder climes flood the Mediterranean coast. It's disconcerting. You never know how late it is, until sunrise.

Victor is blissed out thanks to this man and has no patience. He kisses his way under Yuri's earlobe, "Why aren't we going up to the room?" petulant, but with a hint of accusation, to trigger the competitor.

Yuri's no fool. He gets Victor's game. Thank goodness, because his self-doubt needed a kick in the pants. His shoulders shrug, he continues to stare forward, muttering: "You said you wanted me in public," like Victor's the one deescalating things.

It worked. " _Here,_ Yurachka?" his tongue lavishes the nickname. "I'm an exhibitionist, not crazy." Victor smiles. "I don't want to get arrested."

But his hand slithers behind Yuri, gliding low.

Yuri smirks, "I promise not to press charges." He molds to Victor's side, an innocent pose for their imagined spectators. Then arches forward just enough for the long limb to play.

Fingers find the bottom of Yuri's jacket, fiddling beneath, to the lip of his pants. Victor's throat murmurs "I thought you were exhausted?" Skin touches skin, the chill of the invasive winter air nipping, and a thumb massages into the divot just above Yuri's backside. "What about sleeping for a week?" 

Yuri's confidence flags. Tonight was fun, but damn, if his head hit a pillow, he'd be gone. Unfortunately, their bed signifies his winnings from the wager, and he doesn’t want to think about that. Not right now. He shivers and Victor's arm flexes tighter, begging a response.

"I...I just don't want to go up," Yuri swallows the word, "... yet." 

Victor's goading fingers stall, he sighs, chin to the heavens. "Me neither," he has to confess, despite all his playful bluster. He isn't ready to face the promise of those pushed-together beds. Not after such a long day.

"We should, though, right?”

Victor shrugs, "I suppose. With the exhibition tomorrow." He feels further away; though he hasn’t moved. His eyes trace a constellation above. 

Yuri wants to bring Victor back. He remembers what works. “Let me be honest.” A sigh and a slow gulp, biting his lip. "I... I'm nervous.”

Victor's eyes cut over to him, knowing, "About the bet?"

Yuri half-smiles, "About everything to do with finally having sex with you." He's afraid to admit it will be unlike any sex he's ever had. 

"Oh," Victor looks down a moment. His hand slides free of Yuri's clothing. How should he approach this? He's flattered Yuri used the word 'finally' and his mind gets stuck on that. He feels the same way, like it's about time. But there’s so many prerequisite conversations, especially now that Yuri admitted he wants to top. Victor’s head springs up with decision. "You know what?" he takes Yuri's hand in both his own. "I have jitters too." 

Yuri's eyes drop, half-lidded, chin ducking. Agape is relieved he's not the only bundle of nerves in this relationship. But Eros loves exposing Victor's vulnerabilities. His irises spark under those innocent blue frames, "Since we’re both avoiding the bed upstairs…”

Victor pinches his side, “I am not!” 

Yuri chuckles, knowing better, and continues, “Is there something else we can do, _right here,_ that's, I don't know, dirtier than kissing, but won't get us arrested?" 

"Something we can do in secret, hmm?" 

"Yeah, like, maybe..." Yuri snuggles into Victor's side, scooching hip to hip. 

Victor casually drapes an arm along the back of the bench, giving Yuri room to position himself. Yuri's arm snakes underneath Victor's heavy winter jacket, up his back. Victor huffs, entertained, he should tease Yuri about always copying him. But anticipation tingles over every inch of skin and he tries not to smile so brightly the entire world knows what's happening. The boardwalk is well lit. People only occasionally pass in little clusters, though no one looks their way. Not yet. How will Victor live through this?

Yuri's hand slides down, cupping layers of fabric over a firm cheek. Victor rises up, just enough, rolling his hips back and supporting more of his weight on his thighs, to allow Yuri's hand to slide beneath. 

The skater’s fingers poke, somewhat inelegant, at the crease between Victor's cheeks. Victor bites his lip.

"Are you asking to finger me on this park bench?” His palm drops to Yuri’s shoulder, clenching, “while we pretend to stare at the ocean in a casual embrace?" False bravado masks his thrill. He's buzzing to tell Yuri he's never been fingered, only done it to himself, and that only recently. Now's not the time to squeal about it like a school kid. He must maintain composure so Yuri doesn't falter. If his lover follows through, Victor's first time will be _in public._

Yuri tenses, his face flushed, eyes darting toward a group of tourists in the distance. He's already mortified and they haven't done anything yet! Yuri's always preferred private affection, never even kissing in public before tonight. Except that one time at the Cup of China, _dammit Victor._ No, not dammit Victor, China was the best kiss of Yuri's life! Until just now, he corrects, the taste of Victor hot in his mouth. 

He decides there's no reconciling his past prescripts for intimacy with how much he loves the idea of this naughty, secret sex act. Loves how Victor got so worked up just _talking_ about exhibitionism last night. The distant tourists move further away now. Perhaps this isn't dangerous enough for Victor? It's cold near the ocean, the wind biting his cheeks and nose. He imagines the cold keeps people away. Victor clenches his glutes in Yuri's hand. He's been quiet too long. 

"Um. Is th-that okay?" 

"I'm game if you are, detka," his palm smooths over Yuri's shoulder blade, gliding into the valley of spine. Victor leans his cheek down, lips in Yuri's hair again, "I can't believe how dirty you've become, only forty-eight hours after remembering the Sochi banquet.” 

"I still don't remember it," Yuri laughs, and pulls his hand out, fingers having paved a way to their destination. Not checking to see if anyone's looking, he takes off his glove and sucks his first two fingers. The act is so lewd and sudden, Victor gasps. Recovering with a head shake, he smirks:

“Here. Allow me,” and reaches into a secret coat pocket, under a button flap in the inner lining. He produces a tiny travel bottle of lube.

Yuri recoils. “Why do you have that?!”

Victor shrugs. “I wasn't sure what to expect at the banquet," he pops the top, offering it to Yuri as casually as if it were antibacterial gel. All part of the show, if anyone out there is watching. "Had you started stripping again, Yuri…” his eyes go unfocused. Yuri smiles. Victor rapid-blinks, coming back to reality. “I came prepared, is all."

Yuri laughs. "We wouldn’t have made it back to our room?”

Victor points at his chin, deciding, “Coat closet, I think," nodding, "Bathroom as a last resort.” 

“Hmmm…I like this,” Yuri sluices his fingers in liquid, curling them into his fist to try and protect the precious fluid from rubbing off on Victor’s expensive clothes as his hand retraces its path. “I like the way we are now.” 

"I do too.” Victor’s own hand, equally juiced, snakes behind Yuri and they both scoot forward. There's a curving dip at the back of the rot iron seat, a stylistic choice that becomes very handy for the lovers in their public deception. 

"Hold me tight, Vitya, face the sea.” Yuri reaches to clasp their free hands over their thighs. He still can't believe he's doing this for Victor, even as the press of bare skin molding to his hidden palm shoots sparks to his groin. “No one will know," he says to reassure himself. 

From most angles, they're a lovely couple of guys, heavily bundled against the cold, pressed side by side on a bench, looking out at the ocean. They even reinforce the image by resting their heads against one another. Few people give them a second glance. Their two layers of jackets provide a bunched curtain of secrecy from behind. Still, Yuri's heart races as his hand burrows under the lip of Victor’s pants, his graceful fingers delve into the soft, forgiving cleft of cheeks. His eyes strafe the boardwalk, seeing no one close, he sighs. His glasses slide down his nose at the angle he curls his chin into their 'innocent' embrace. Yuri shivers.

"Sorry it's so cold" whispering, like people might hear him. Victor's ass is icy, until Yuri's in the warm crease. Then he's sure his fingers are the frozen invaders, providing a gentle slide and swirl of fresh lube as penance. He feels Victor tremble and smiles, pleased with himself.

Damn. Victor can't think. He tries to focus on a point out at sea, a repetitive white crest of wave, or perhaps a star. Yuri touching him, coaxing him open for the first time, wouldn't drive him witless if they were indoors, right? He asked for this, bragged about being an exhibitionist. Now he feels exactly like the anxious anal virgin he is. And poor Yuri doesn't even know! He can't blurt it out now. Focus.

Victor's fingers pluck at the elastic band of Yuri’s briefs. He’s annoyed with how little lube he managed to maintain while burrowing through Yuri's layers, versus the slick digits he feels between his own cheeks. On the plus side, there will be a telling snail trail around Yuri’s clothes that Victor may never want to wash off. For distraction, and because he started this, so he better find a way to be chill, he decides to tease Yuri, "I wish I'd shown you those banquet photos months ago." 

“It certainly would have helped,” Yuri smirks. His moist index discovers its target and tips upward. Victor’s breath hitches. Then Yuri squawks as a blunt, hasty dive of fingers spreads him just above his own hole. If he didn't know better, he'd think Victor was nervous or inexperienced. His mind flashes _'more Tinder than Grindr'_. But then his lover’s teasing continues.

“When I arrived, you shut me out,” Victor grins, deliberately saying these words while he plays with opening Yuri. The spongy muscle purses in protest at Victor’s lame humor. Unfazed, his finger swirls, begging sympathy, “I was afraid to talk about the banquet.”

“I know,” Yuri peddles his digits against Victor's pulsing cusp of flesh. He's emboldened by the bodily reactions quaking through Victor. “I didn’t make it easy for you,” dampening the spot, a gentle push upwards, “I’m sorry, takara.”

They both gasp when Yuri dives into Victor, sucked up close to the knuckle.

Of course another couple passes at that moment, when their mutual gasp is most audible. The passersby are discreet, but not stupid. After a sudden moment of eye contact with the skaters, they turn rapidly, and keep walking. Yuri and Victor, tense, frozen, breathless, watch the other couple, waiting. Finally, the accidental voyeurs emit shoulder-shaking giggles, perhaps assuming they're out of earshot. They are not. Victor and Yuri exhale, the danger of being reported for public indecency drifts away. Yet, they remain still, unsure what happens now, each waiting for the other to react.

Victor's breath is rapid through his nostrils, his adam's apple rolling. False bravado fails him. Caught in the act, his beloved penetrates, is inside, with an audience! The couple are long gone, yet flight-or-fight endorphins swell through Victor’s abdomen and behind his ribs. He hears the roar of a stadium crowd. His mind feels spotlights burning, this bench is center ice. His cheeks are aflame, almost painful. And the show's just started. He’s surprised he hasn’t cum his pants like some adolescent. 

It feels like Victor's trying not to laugh. Yuri swallows his own terror. What do they do now? If they talk about what just happened, he’ll panic, and the sexy spell will be broken. As if in answer, Victor’s involuntary inner muscles clench Yuri's finger. The clasp draws Yuri deeper. Victor hums. Yuri takes this as a sign to keep going. Good, anything's better than talking right now. Focus on the pulsing heat inside… inside Victor Nikiforov. He feels his lungs burn. How is this more erotic, fully clothed and doing so little to each other, than any of his juvenile dirty fantasies? Emboldened, his middle knuckle skirts the rim, kneading request for admittance. 

_Bozhe moi_ Victor isn't ready for this. He wishes he drank more earlier. There are parts of his body still feeling the heady buzz. He leans into those. Finding the numb pool at the base of his skull helps relax muscles he can control inside, yielding to the second push. Yuri's domain expands with the slow progression of his middle finger. Victor shudders, gulping mouthy breaths. He leans his head back to exhale at the sky, forgetting. Yuri’s adjacent foot nudges his ankle. Right. Victor’s face returns to the neutral position and he tries to control the arch of his back, abs pulling up taut. If he doesn't hold good posture, he'll look like a man getting fingered for the first time. People will be able to tell for miles. Thank goodness his free arm partially obscures his lap.

Yuri squirms his hips, grabbing at Victor’s fingers with his muscular cheeks. Oh yeah. Victor wanted to make this mutual. His brain checks back in. Yuri's hole is more sticky than damp now, so are Victor's digits. But he makes an effort, massaging and poking. His mind scrolls memories of fingering women, and the one other guy. He can do this. And he appreciates a diaphragmatic moan Yuri grinds out when he's finally penetrated. But, oh, Yuri's curling a trigger finger just below his prostate. Victor hit it before with toys, but _damn._

Yuri thinks he might have to ease up, because his lover's vocalizing vowel sounds. He scans their surroundings. No one in earshot, unless there's someone back there in the parking lot between the boardwalk and the road. He's too afraid to look. Craning around would make it obvious. His anxiety conjures the eyes of people watching from inside a parked car. Perhaps the passerby couple circled back behind them and settled in for a show? Oh man. Why does that scenario turn him on? He does a tiny grind, a near imperceptible lean of his hips, into Victor's hand. He hears Victor sigh. Yuri exhales the adrenaline gripping his chest, tries to relax his muscles, and enjoy himself. But he wonders what Victor is doing, exactly? A single, long, dexterous, barely-lubed finger pistons in and out. The thrusts wouldn't feel good if they weren’t _out here_ like this. A question forms at the edge of his mind, but he ignores it. Yuri has less room to maneuver, his hand stilled by their angle. So, his knuckles roll gentle waves inside Victor. He smiles when he feels Victor's hips trying not to flow with the current.

Victor wonders, as his pulse throbs between his legs, if a man can finish this way? His frazzled mind recollects bringing women off with just his fingers. When he experimented with toys, he could always jerk off too. He wants to pull himself to climax right now, with Yuri inside. His thoughts are interrupted when he notices Yuri wince in his periphery. Oh no! Hastily, he tries to mimic Yuri's waving knuckles with his own finger. Yuri's head rolls back on a long exhale. Victor lets him be obvious for a second. Yuri deserves to feel good. And this is how he likes it? Yuri's been doing what he enjoys to Victor. Noted. 

Yuri recognizes his own fingering style, why is Victor copying him? The question. Victor seems like he's about to cum already. Yuri thought it was because of the intensity of being in public. Now, the ignored question finds its way to the vocal sector of Yuri's brain. "Victor, have you done...?"

"Never," he gasps, because he can’t take it anymore. Yuri's fingers stop moving, then withdraw. Victor pulls out too. Ducking his chin, he gives Yuri a playful smile, chirping, "You're my first!"

Yuri catapults from the bench without consideration to Victor's arm under his clothes. Now he's standing, red faced, sputtering, and with Victor's hand very clearly stuck to his backside beneath his jacket and pants. Shit! His eyes dart to the parking lot. There's no one there, except all the people in his imagination. For them, he sits back down as fast as he stood, smushing Victor's digits against the seat. 

"Ouch!" Victor struggles to free himself. He whips his hand out. 

"Sorry!" Yuri lifts and examines the reddened digits. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Seeing that Victor will live, his fingers aren't broken, he scolds: "Don't spring stuff like that on me!" 

Victor scoffs, eyes glassy and pupils wide, a goofy smile straining his lips. "If I told you before we started, you would've backed out." 

"Maybe! But maybe not! You didn't give me the choice. I can't believe..."

"Shocking revelations aside," Victor flips his bangs, "We need to get upstairs and deal with this."

Yuri huffs, but Victor has a point.

As they walk back to the hotel, Victor wonders, "Was this your first time in public, Yurachka?" 

"You know it was, Vitya." 

"Did you enjoy the danger?" 

Yuri’s cheeks burn. Reliving what they’ve just done, he’s not so frustrated with Victor’s omission anymore. "I did.” They’d been walking side by side, but not touching. Yuri closes the gap, brushing Victor’s shoulder. “Very much." Victor loops their elbows. They’re about to exit the parking lot and cross the road to the hotel. Yuri decides to cop to his fantasy. "I imagined the couple who saw us were watching us from one of these cars." Together, they look into the empty vehicles, trying to spot a voyeur, and laugh.

Alone in the elevator, Yuri’s clean hand glides up Victor’s jawline. Victor leans into the caress. Yuri’s eyes go wide. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he clears his throat and before Victor can ask what he’s apologizing for, “I didn’t touch you like this,” his ring and pinkie fingers part, smoothing up Victor’s cheek, past his hairline, to his ear, “not once last night. Even after, w-when we…”

“It’s okay, Yurachka,” for some reason, the nickname makes him blush harder than the public lewdness. “We were fighting last night,” his eyes close as Yuri’s thumb smooths over the lower edge of his socket. He sighs deep in his chest. "This” he nuzzles into Yuri’s palm, “can be special. It doesn't have to happen all the time, or during sex.”

“Hai, takara,” Yuri leans forward, their brows together.

\-------------

They’re laughing with delirium when they finally try to pass out, together, exhausted. Sleep doesn’t work at first. Their adrenalized bodies don’t remember how. Instead, they keep giggling, nuzzling faces in chests and shoulders. Finally, Victor, splayed out on his back, is the first to release one long breath. His body relaxes from stem to stern, like a cool rush of wind. Just feeling it happen to Victor, makes the same exhalation roll through Yuri. His body giving up the fight at last, he blankets himself over Victor’s chest, eyes closed, lips parting. 

Neither of them set an alarm. Nor do they remember passing out. They sleep well into the early afternoon. The exhibition is tonight. 

No time for a meal, Victor orders finger foods they can graze on as they get ready. "Nothing messy, no sauces," he dictates over the phone. He waits for the delivery before changing into his exhibition costume. As he undresses, Yuri exits the bathroom to pluck his usual snacks from the assorted charcuterie plates. He sits on the bed, making little wraps of meat and cheese slices, arranging them in neat lines on his plate above equally well-presented piles of fruits and nuts. Victor thinks of making a joke about playing with your food, but he's too charmed. Instead, wearing only his dancer's belt, he struts over and grabs one of Yuri's creations.

"Victor!" Yuri snatches for it, too slow. The Russian smiles and winks before he sucks the tube lasciviously in his mouth, tongue curling around it. "You're terrible!"

"You like it." Winking again as he turns away. Yuri chucks a handful of grapes at his coach's retreating posterior.

Victor gasps when one or two of the projectiles make their target. "I'm wounded!" and pretends to swoon. Once again, they don't have time to act on any of this flirting. Yuri cleans his plate and returns to the bathroom.

He can’t stop preening as he adjusts every little detail of his blue Victor costume, with an ear to ear grin in the mirror. He’s so silly, he decides. Yuri’s worn an _actual_ Victor costume all season. This one is just a copy, in a different color. Pivoting on his toes, checking out the back, and his own ass, for the millionth time, he realizes why this is so special. He looks up to see Victor leaning in the doorway, admiring him. And he has to say: 

“It’s us!” He twirls so the jacket tails flare away from his hips. 

“Hmmm?” Victor’s appreciative eyes flit over his figure. 

“This costume,” Yuri throws out his arms, “it’s both of us, part mine and yours.” He steps up to play with Victor’s lapel. It’s perfect, but he messes it up just to have the opportunity to stand close and fix it. Victor recognizes nervous twitchiness. He grips his lover’s hand.

“You’re right,” lifting Yuri’s fingers to kiss them. “Eros was my costume. Yuri on Ice is yours. This one," reverent knuckles roll over fabric at the collarbone, “is ours.” Victor’s eyes close, his smiling cheeks press the lids shut. 

Yuri can _feel_ how well this little notion hit the mark.

Victor's eyes shine and he hums a soft laugh. “We should’ve told the arena to hand out ventilators and other resuscitation equipment to our fans tonight.” 

“Like door prizes?” Yuri laughs and leans in, embracing lightly, trying not to mess up the perfection of Victor’s costume again. “First one hundred fans get necessary life-saving equipment?” 

Victor’s chin nods into Yuri’s crown. “Too bad we didn’t think of it,” his voice mocking genuine concern, “We’re going to kill a lot of women and men tonight out there on the ice, dorogoy.”

“Yes we are, takara.”

“Shame though,” Victor’s hands prowl down to Yuri’s cheeks and squeeze, “our fans missed the _real_ exhibition last night!”

Yuri worries he’ll need another layer of makeup. His blush just won’t go away!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Good Excuses™ for your two month wait:  
> 1.      This was hard to write _right_. You deserve the effort.  
>  2.      Since posting Part 3, I chased these plot bunnies [ More Screen Time](http://archiveofourown.org/series/635939) down their respective rabbit holes and had the time of my life, plus the most fandom response I've ever received.  
> 3.      I entered and completed a writing contest [ Fiction War](http://fictionwar.com)! If you’re a writer, you should too! Challenging and fun.  
> 4.      The Day Job had both a 10 day overseas thing and a 3 day oral comprehensive exam thing eating up all my “thinking about fanfic and jotting lines down during workday” time since Jan 3rd.  
> 5.      I wrote SO MUCH for this story, I woke up today and realized I have four chapters and I’m STILL not done.


	2. Friendly Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor's never heard of docking.  
> Yuri's never competed in a sex-volume contest with another couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to you, my update time shrank from 2 months to 2 weeks!!  
> Can I get the next chapter out in 10 days or less? I am sustained by your feedback. <3  
> Thank you so much for reading! This is all for you.  
> 

Yuri claps a hand over his mouth on an exclamation. He groans his coach's name, muffled by his gloved palm.

The sound should be okay. This section of the locker room is furthest from the entry and exit. After the expansive dry area, you have to go past the toilets and sinks to get here. Still, he knows their feet are clearly visible under the door. The changing rooms are twice the size of an average department store's, because half of each stall is devoted to a shower. A flimsy curtain separates the two halves. Once their sparkling blue and pink georgette jacket-blouses were hung, neat and flat, Victor wasted no time shoving Yuri through the faux-vinyl barrier until their shoulders collided sideways with the tiled wall. Now, they lean into its support. 

Victor, the top half of his bodysuit wilted below his hips, milks his own precum and rolls a thumb through the sticky webs forming between his fingers.

"Look at all this," he shows the silky tendrils to Yuri. Drumming his digits in the air next to Yuri's face, "You know you do this to me constantly?"

The skater nods, though he didn't know. He wants to sound cocky about it, licks his lips, "Sorry, not sorry, _coach._ " The word, the dirtiness of its implication, heats his lower abs. Or maybe it's the palm cupping, front and center, through his sheer, breathable, costume. Either way, his chin tilts up on an ragged exhale.

Eyes on the ceiling, Yuri hears but doesn't see pursed lips teasing, "Tsk. Tsk," before making contact with his adam's apple. "You swore you couldn't fuck your coach."

Yuri smirks. Sure, taunt his attempt to apply reason to this madness! He tries to keep his voice steady, "I'm still worried," knowing this would halt Victor's busy hands. He inhales like he's actually anxious, meeting concerned blue eyes. "How should we write this into your contract, hmm?"

Victor laughs, loving it when Yuri tricks him, and pulls them close. His voice affectionate, "We should agree on terms."

"Like number of times per week?" 

"Diversity of locations and positions..." 

"Don't forget duration of sessions!"

They'd keep going, but the tangible joy of each other's laughter hits them both at once and quiets the mood. They stop to stare, warm and fond, Yuri blushing and looking down. This still doesn't feel real. Happiness like this, palpable under the skin, in the air like a spirit, should only exist in teenage love songs. 

Victor takes Yuri's hand and presses it to his cheek. "My knees almost gave out when you stroked my face on the ice." 

Yuri breathes, eyes wide, hand held steady against his idol's soft skin. He doesn't know what to say, so he jokes, "I'll try and be more careful of your elderly joints."

Victor slaps the outside of his thigh, making him bounce. "Don't you dare!" Grinning, he tilts his face into Yuri's palm. "This wasn't part of our rehearsals." 

"I'm glad I can surprise you." Yuri's fingers, rather than their usual traverse of Victor's cheekbone, glide upward around Victor's eye socket to his forehead, then down to massage his temple, "You said last night this touch should be special... so..." he shrugs.

Victor's appreciative expression is magnetic, Yuri must lean up and kiss him.

His lover takes the opportunity to peel Yuri's black body suit away from his sinewy shoulders, fabric sticking to his upper arms with sweat. Not that it matters, the point was to expose his ass, cheeks stippiling with gooseflesh, despite the flushed heat from their performance. 

Both hands on the prize, Victor kneads and whispers, "Tonight felt very different than when we practiced back home... " 

Yuri loves his fiance calling Hasetsu 'home'. Each time sends tingles over his skin.

"We weren't lovers before, Victor," repeating himself, but trying not to sound too patronizing. 

The Russian leans Yuri backward, bending them both at the waist, his knee parting Yuri's legs, his thigh pressing in and up. "You couldn't tell how badly I wanted to be?" his tented crotch ever closer to the place it wants to be buried, "Even then?" 

" _Today_ there was no distinction," Yuri gives up. Victor needs patronistic repitition, apparently. He feels like it's his own fault; he's so bad at talking! "For me, for the first time, Coach Victor and Crush Victor were the same man out there." He saddles himself around his fiance's lap. Forget a thigh, he'll get straight to the source. "That's what made it different." His neck reaches up to kiss, this time gentle, chaste, and lingering. In the three days since kissing really started for them, ( _Baka! Just three days?_ How can that be true?) Yuri hasn't kissed Victor often in this yearning, loving, way. 

Victor mewls in the soft liplock. Yuri's right. He's overwhelmed for so many reasons. Their newfound intimacy was just on display for all the world. The clamor of the crowd wasn't imagined this time! They danced to the swells and squeals of an audience. Above it all, soared the very score which brought them together. Inhibitions vanished on the ice, the anticipation mounting with the crescendo. 

He's panting when they break, Yuri's lips already too far away. "Can this be it?" He doesn't care that he's begging. "Can this be our fist time?"

"It might have been," Yuri turns in Victor's arms, pressing his bare ass to Victor's clothed erection. The coach's breath snares and stutters through his teeth. Yuri teases him further with a gentle thrust of his cheeks. Victor grabs his hips, tries to hold him still. 

Yuri tsks as he turns back around, with an admonishing finger waggle, "Too bad you lost the bet, love." 

Victor is about to say something threatening and aggressive, but...

Phichit bursts into the locker room.

"Two people fainted during your performance!" he shrieks to an empty space. Confused, he listens until he hears the shuffling of clothing and whispered curses. He follows until Yuri rounds the corner: 

"Are you serious?" Barefoot and wearing only his bodysuit, he almost collides with the sinks where Phichit stands, accusatory eyes gleaming. 

"I texed you," the Thai chides with a wink.

Yuri sighs. His best friend _always_ knows!

"We were just joking about that," Victor laughs, flicking his hair perfectly into place as though it's never even been touseled, let alone bunched into a fist. He chirps "We wanted to hand out rescue equipment tonight as door prizes."

"Well, they needed it!" Phichit laughs, scanning Victor head to toe in a single whip of his eyes. His lips go crooked.

Victor turns to the mirror, plucking at an eyebrow. "What were the victims' sexes?" 

"I don't know..."

"Why does it matter?" Yuri tilts his head and squints at his own reflection. He left his glasses in the shower.

Victor grins at him over his shoulder. "What if it was a young man and woman?"

"Victor..."

"And they never met before..." 

Yuri gets caught up in the idea, "...until this moment?" 

Phichit beams: "They wake up together in the arena's medical bay!"

Victor checks the time on the old wall clock, "Right now!" He turns around to face Yuri, "Blinking at one another," reaching for him, "They realize they've found their soul mates!" 

The pair clasp hands and squeal. Phichit squeals with them, jumping on his toes, and snaps a group pic of the trio's giddiness. 

"Our exhibition might be the first page of a new love story!" Yuri glows, imagining fans united by his own romance.

Phichit hugs Yuri's shoulders. "Maybe they'll have a Stammi Vicino themed wedding!" He pulls Victor into a quick group hug. "I'll see if I can score more deets!"

Their lingering hold is more than a little uncomfortable for the Russian's remaining hard-on. Then he really feels a squeeze when Phichit kisses Yuri's cheek before skipping to the door, sing-songing: "Don't get ISU demerits for indecent behavior while I'm gone!"

Yuri waves, not noticing his ice dancing partner smiling like the devil he is. Victor grabs Yuri's wrist and pulls him toward their shower stall. 

His protege struggles, "Phichit already caught us once!" slapping at the coach's arm, "You're ridiculous! Let's go back to our room..."

Victor wheels on him. "I hope they all catch us. I hope Yakov walks in."

"Victor! Don't say that!" whining, blushing everywhere, and digging in his heels, finally pulling his hand away. 

His coach glowers, eyes squinty, "And since when does he kiss you?" 

Yuri swallows, but doesn't miss a beat: "Since he realized it annoys you?" Yuri laughs at the indignance scrunching Victor's features. "Maybe when he caught that shady side-eye you gave him at the hot pot place in China?" 

"What?!" 

"It's all over Instagram and Tumblr," Yuri momentarily wonders where his phone is, "Your ability to be possessive while drunk and mostly naked is legendary." 

" **MY** ability?!" he grabs at Yuri's body, but the skater flits away. "Excuse me?! You possessed me in a room full of hundreds, from the vantage point of a stripper pole!" 

"And I didn't even have the presence of mind to remember any of it," Yuri marvels at his own prowess, hands on his haughty hips. 

Victor is unamused, frustrated, prowling. "Get over here mister _Don't take your eyes off me_ " and, catching him, Victor tries to do a Yuri voice, failing, when he mocks: " _the show has already started_ ". 

Yuri knows he's in control here, he grabs the bulge beginning to damage its surrounding black material, "How many times did you jerk off to that tie action, hmm?" he palpitates the outline of his lover's shaft. "For me it was like..." He would've said 'weeks', but Victor bombards his face with a kiss like a train off the tracks. Yuri was a fool to think he held all the cards in the rough kissing deck.

They stumble into their stall, stripping and hanging cat-suits, kissing when they can reach. Back in the shower, a bottle of lube is set on the shelf meant for shampoo or soap. Victor holds him tight and close, his arm a brace clamped round Yuri's waist, his hand smooths down into the crease. 

Yuri is naked but for his dancer's belt. The beige elastic waistband is wide, inching up to cover half his belly button. The front is softly padded, leaving some detail to the imagination, but the back is a thong. Lubed fingers bunch this fabric aside to work Yuri with far greater dexterity than last night on the bench. 

"Here," Yuri adjusts his hips, because Victor's frisking his insides, skirting the best spot as if he can't find it, "do exactly what you're doing, but over here..." 

Victor feels the difference between one spongy wall and the firmer, smoother side. He tentatively tries again and Yuri's body snaps like a rubber band pulled taut.

"Better today, hmm?" he jokes next to Yuri's ear. 

"Much!" Yuri rasps over the cavern of a parched throat, eyelids clenched shut. He'll need a shower after this for a variety of reasons, the chief being rehydration. He imagines shocking Victor by turning the water on. He might do it just to hear his fiancé shriek. Then he opens his eyes.

Victor's smile is relieved, his soft voice trilling, "I'm so glad." The pace inside slows to deliberate, direct strokes, middle finger joining in the fun. "I thought I hurt you last night. I felt bad all morning."

Yuri can't help hitching one hip. Right toes stack atop his left, all ten piggies curling and clutching each other. His glutes snap in time with tiny flicks of his pelvis, meeting the ministrations inside.

Victor realizes Yuri's cock won't be ignored for long and grinds against it, proud of himself. He swivels his hips to emphasize his words, "You... felt so good...last night," Victor's precum is damp enough to stain Yuri's belt, "I couldn't concentrate on pleasuring you." 

"We have more time tonight," Yuri nibbles at the center hollow between his fiancé’s bare collarbones, "Don't get me wrong, I love that we can," he swallows, still no good at talking, "mm-make each other come." Trying not to evaporate in a heated exhaust of giggles, he jokes "That's a thing we do now!" Then distracts himself by laving each end of collarbone with a flat, wide tongue.

"But?" Victor clears his throat, fingers stalling in their rhythm.

But Phichit will return and interrupt them again once he gets all the gossip about the fainting fans. Yuri doesn't want to disappoint Victor, though. His lips continue to play with the sensitive divot of skin as he considers what to say. He expels a soft laugh. "But... N-no sense repeating three nights of..." he gives a nibble, peck, suck, then a snicker, lips curling, "...blowies and handies!" 

These juvenile words have the desired effect. Victor's chest inflates like a bagpipe and expels a high pitched "Hummph," an utterly offended sound. He withdraws and pushes Yuri a step away. "We didn't have time!" dodging a kiss attempt, "We're both _still_ bundles of nerves!" wiggling away through the curtain into the changing room. "And the first night, the first times..." 

"Were fantastic," Yuri reassures, following. He slips a hand up the side of Victor's ribs, "It was so good we ruined my short program." 

Victor pouts, "Not ruined!" 

Yuri catches him and kisses his petulant lips. "I know," he didn't mean to actually hurt Victor's feelings. "I'm just teasing. I enjoyed everything we've done so far." He smiles and strokes Victor's face again, a gesture of apology, making his lover sigh and instantly forgive him. "Even when we were being silly, like last night."

"The first half of last night was **not** silly." Victor grumps.

"No," his fingers curl down to tease Victor's chin, "but when we got back to the room..."

Victor huffs a laugh, kissing above his protégé’s eyebrow. 

"I was delirious," Yuri hugs tight, hiding his face in moist pectorals. "I don't think I've ever giggled so much while getting head." He enjoys the jostle of Victor's entire body as he chuckles. Yuri clears his throat, "Besides, you were right," he nods his head, studious. "Each of these nights we _did_ need our sleep."

Victor stiffens, "And now?" 

"Hmmmm?" being coy and stepping back toward the shower. 

"Now..." Victor kisses one of his bare shoulders. "The exhibitions," emphasis on the _plural,_ "are over." Yuri would argue, but there's a lick and bite at the soft spot between his shoulder blades. "Nothing to do but," he slurps a full tongue over each vertebrae in Yuri's neck, "fuck each other senseless," inhaling the fuzz at Yuri's nape, "wake up, and catch a plane." He bites a chomp full of Yuri's hair, flipping the wet strands with his tongue. 

Yuri vibrates, shimmies, and steps out of his dancer's belt, thinking of taking a shower, being productive, so they can head back. He forgets to voice his intention and Victor dives at his nakedness. He's on him, Yuri's chest pressed into the wall. His nipples freeze erect on the tile. He'd complain, but he's too thrilled. His chub hates and loves this, jerking protest against the chill, but throbbing due to the roughness of being pinned. Soaking kisses continue to salve his neck and shoulders. Both of his fiancé’s arms latch around his body, one hand flattening over his peck, warming one frigid nipple, the other smoothing along his hip and down his thigh. Yuri's fingers claw and clutch at the tile, he tries to reach back and touch Victor. When it doesn't work, the angle's too weird, Yuri bucks, pivoting his hips.

The Russian understands immediately and, hand remaining firm on a sleek thigh, makes room for his lover to turn around and face him again. Yuri's hands waste no time trailblazing the peaks and valleys of Victor's torso, making him shudder, breath quickening. He hoists up the thigh he's holding, hand caressing down and around to the space forced open by a hitched leg. 

Yuri once again slaps a hand over his own mouth, the other one clutching a fistful of silver hair.

Victor's fingers turn merciless, with a hint of desperation to prove himself. Yuri wants to do a number of things with the hand covering his moans, but he's too conflicted to try. His resolve to stop and finish at the hotel unraveling. As usual, Victor helps with his internal dilemma, pulling the hand away from Yuri's mouth to wrap it around his coach's pulsating length and suggest he start stroking. Which Yuri gladdy commences, making Victor groan. 

"You're filthy," he reaches to turn on the water, stopped by a sudden sound outside.

The moan Victor hears is wet, rending, and _not Yuri's._ The couple petrify, becoming a single, erotic statue. Questioning, frightened, eyes lock and widen together. The next sound to reach the skaters from out in the open locker area is the smacking of flesh against flesh, lewd, sweaty, and fast. 

Victor recognizes a throaty baritone grunt.

"Chris?" he whispers to Yuri.

"And Phichit!" Yuri answers, just as quiet. He'd know his bff's strangled sobs anywhere. He remembers putting headphones in every time Phichit pretended he didn't want to be heard in their shared shower. "They're by the toilets, I think," Yuri says for no reason. Maybe because his shell-shocked brain has to say something or start screaming. He didn't even know Phichit and Chris were a thing!

Victor turns his head toward the sound, "Probably has him bent over the sink counter," he smirks, "Chris loves mirrors."

Yuri's about to hiss at Victor for being so damn nonchalant about this, when the sex noises outside grow louder, more deliberate.

Victor grips Yuri's hips, thumbs curling as if in a fist. "Are they challenging us?" 

As if in reply, Phichit cries out, an indecipherable babel of Thai. 

Yuri's once-stroking hand releases, quivering. His exhale is shaky. So are his unblinking eyes.

"Don't freak out," Victor leans in, "we're okay." 

"I think you forget who I am, takara." Yuri swallows, gulping away the last sign of Agape's anxiety. His lubed fingers comb black tousled bangs back where they belong. The Eros transformation begins. "After my world record yesterday," he strokes his entire body flush against Victor’s, pressing upwards. Biting his coach's ear lobe, he hisses, "I won't lose to those two!" 

His lover has no time to respond or register the implications. Yuri takes both their dicks in his hand, pushes Victor into the corner of the shower. The sound of his naked flesh slapping one of the walls makes the noises near the sink halt for a moment. Before the coach can get his bearings, Yuri’s eyes bore into him.

"Fuck me, Vitya," grinding their two shafts together, “like this,” rolling his hips up the Russian's pelvis.

Victor almost faints. _That_ word from Yuri's mouth is stupefying. He shakes his head, rattling out his brain's one and only protest, "Our first time? Here?"

Yuri smirks, his hand still stroking them both, "In a way, you won the bet, too." Victor is already thrusting into Yuri's hand, and he growls:

"I did get what I want for our careers..."

Yuri gives him a circular swivel of his groin, their cocks dancing in the loose tunnel of his grip. He moans, "I'm a generous winner, takara. I want you to collect, you've earned it." 

With Yuri's permission, Victor's eyes glaze and he's lost in the public lewdness, making sure Phichit and Chris can hear him voice his pleasure. Yuri's hand lets go and they're thrusting together, Yuri on his toes, Victor clutching his ass, pushing him higher, pulling him down, dragging cries from his uncovered lips. Sounds that reverberate the way only bathroom acoustics will allow. This is so fucking sudden. So unexpected. He can't believe it.

Yuri's cries are bass to Phichit's trebles. Victor and Chris grunt in tandem.

Swamped in emotion, Victor's heart pounds out his throat when he gasps: "We'll make your winnings _special_ Yuri," breathing in huffs. "The switching, our first two penetrative times," he pants, eyes pleading, "I promise you."

Yuri puffs, not losing his stride, grinning, "Unless," there are tears glistening his eyes, but his wide smile is so effervescent, Victor knows he's okay; just feeling as overcome as his coach, that's all. "Un-unless some of our friends challenge us to a," his eyes clench shut and his voice stammers with his thrusts, "a s-sex-off, apparently!" And his next several exhales are stuttered with laughter.

He can’t help it. The stereo effect of their couples’ sex is somehow as hilarious as it is overwhelmingly erotic. Yuri starts laughing as the heat of his passion dives to his pelvis.

Victor thinks the echoes of four men having a sex-off make the entire locker room sound like a badly-recorded porno with tons of audio feedback. The fact that four languages are mixed with the lusty, sinful, noises reminds Victor of internet porn dubs.

Victor's hand grips the top of the shower’s block wall to one side of his cornered position, his other forearm and hand press flat and stabilizing against tile. He and Yuri grind together, neither taking over, though Yuri's position, pressing Victor into the corner, would seem to make him the top, unless Victor imagines Yuri riding him like this.

Then Victor hears Chris' grunts, in time with a larger man’s body pounding, and _knows_ he's topping Phichit out there, because Giacometti never sounded like that when he bottomed for Victor. Chirs is inside Phichit right now. He must be. His head is thrown back as he closes his eyes and imagines. It’s not hard to visualize those sounds overlaid with Yuri thrusting up and down his abdomen right now. Using the nearby noises as fodder, he pictures Yuri sheathed inside him, ramming into him like the rhythmic slaps outside their shower stall. He lowers one hand with the intention to finger at his own lubed ass.

Then Yuri grips the back of his neck, drawing his attention down, until Victor opens up and looks Yuri in the eyes.

_Yuri is imagining it too!_

"I can't wait to be inside you like this," teeth clenching, his huge irises puncture into Victor's, "But I will wait." Then, to himself, "Not here, not like this."

Victor gushes, “So romantic!” hands running slick and easy up and down Yuri's sweaty back. "So sweet!" He doesn’t realize he’s cheered in Russian.

Yuri doesn't understand these endearments, which is why in response, he commands:

"Let me dock with you," loud enough for Chris and Phichit to hear. The responding whistles of shock are confirmation enough. He wonders if either of them are uncircumcised, if they've ever done it. He looks down at the bunched turtleneck pooling beneath the cap of Victor's head, refusing to let the full, swollen mushroom all the way free.

Victor follows his line of sight, but looks confused.

Yuri smiles. He never imagined Victor like this, needing him to translate. "Docking is when I'm inside your foreskin," he demonstrates, pulling and stretching the folds forward, to engulf both their bell-ends. The sound he makes, a plaintive wheeze, isn't exaggerated for their competitors outside, whose cadence halts, hearing it. This is entirely his own kink laboring out from his groin to his throat. And he’s proud of himself, somehow, for putting it all out here on display. The dirtiest thing he’s always wanted to do with Victor, or anyone, really. And he hasn’t stopped thinking about it since he first saw Victor’s foreskin peeling naturally away to expose his head the night before his short program. He hadn’t admitted it, even to himself, and now he thrusts, very soft, his grip hugging both their heads inside Victor’s skin, and moans for all the world to hear. 

Seeing the slip and pull of their cocks together as one living, undulating worm of a being, connecting their bodies, in and through Yuri’s delicate fingers, Victor feels paralyzed by lust. Yuri makes it worse, changing it up to the tiniest of bursts into his hyper-sensitive sleeve, their pouting dickholes opening upon one another, like a kiss. A kiss from Yuri's dick to his own! Chemicals of sheer insanity ride up his spine to rip away conscious thought. The slip, tug and pull of his skin over _both_ of them. If he had the faculties, he'd curse the prior men he's been with, even Chris, for never showing him this trick. How has he gone his entire adult life without feeling this? And there's something inherently filthy about it, too. The way it looks like his own cock is devouring Yuri’s. 

Outside, Chris’ orgasm is broken gulps, hisses, and one primal groan. Phichit’s is a yipping, needful, drawl riding a ragged exhale. The outbursts are lost on Yuri and Victor, who hear nothing and feel everything. They're beyond their five senses now, gone wherever the universe takes new lovers in the ripest moments of ecstasy. Their bodies disjoin in order to paint one another in the juice of their shared epiphanies. 

At some point, long after they've drifted back to physical time and space, they realize they've turned the water on. It's hot, cleansing. They don’t even notice Phichit and Chris have left until both their phones start buzzing out in the changing room. Yuri is terrified to read the tags his best friend came up with for this!

\--------------------------  


After depositing their bags at the room, and changing into what Victor refers to as "suave street clothes," the couple tries to duck discretely into the bar, and find a corner booth for themselves. Because, as Victor put it: “How could you not need a hard drink after what just happened?” The plan is to bask in and attempt to discuss their afterglow.

"Oh, there you are!" Chris hails them from a distance.

He’s alone in a round, red cushioned, booth that looks like scenery from an old mobster movie. Yuri visibly grimaces, body stuttering; his blushing face darting left and right for an exit strategy. Victor holds one of his shoulders. “Now, now. A good sportsman always greets the losing team, love,” he flexes his grip to steer Yuri toward the booth, his devilish smile splitting the lower half of his face. “It’s polite to shake hands and congratulate them on a ‘good game,’ you know?”

Victor comprehends this forced social interaction must feel like he’s punishing Yuri. But he can’t help it. He has to hear this gossip! How did Chris and Phichit get together? Why did they decide to do _that_ tonight? If he leaves Barcelona without finding out, he’ll hate himself. He hopes Yuri understands and forgives him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That escalated quicker than I planned.  
> You'll notice there's five chapters now. Because this one didn't exist when I posted chapter one. It's brand new.  
> You can thank [ Nomanono](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono) and [ RippedApart](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RippedApart/pseuds/RippedApart) for this one.  
> And thank you! I can't tell you how much you mean to me.


	3. Good Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris and Phichit share a first together. They've never had it so good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [ Phiciametti is Pure](http://twitter.com/phichimetti) for constantly popping up in my Twitter feed and inspiring me to write these two adorable cuties! 
> 
> I didn’t even tag them until I posted Chap 3, but they’re so wonderful they barged into this story and are now about to play a significant role in character development and plot! I hope you enjoy.

_“Getting ready for you,”_ Phichit texts Chris. 

_“Can’t wait.”_ There’s a pause of rolling dots, then, _“Come make a Victuuri sandwich with me.”_

_“Shut up! They sat with you?!!!!!”_

The response starts with a few winking smileys blowing hearts, then, _"Yes, we’re all in each other's faces."_

His yummy Swiss Roll loves innuendo and Phichit is an ever flowing spring of sexy puns. Chris says all the dumb word play will get old, become lame and overdone; it has for his other lovers. Phichit denies this emphatically. Those guys don’t know what they’re missing!

He's up in his room changing and texting people back home about the exhibition and, of course, the hamster hat he wore today on live television. He finishes posting another exhibition costume pic, in all its Hamtaro glory, with: _"U know I’m adorbs! #NoShame"_

On a hope, he checks the pic he posted in the locker room for the millionth time. It's a mirror selfie. Phichit held aloft in Chris' unspeakable arms, limbs wrapped like a spider monkey, fully clothed, but clearly freshly fucked; both of them all red and puffy and euphoric. 

_"Wish you were here, #Victuuri! Oh wait..."_ with Victor and Yuri tagged.

Victor had shown some love: 

_"#SoreLosers"_ with a kissing smiley.

Not a peep from Yuri, yet. He frowns, tries not to be upset about it. Ghosting is not cool, bro. Phichit knows he's being punished and it's not fair! To put it out of his mind, he focuses on the image and its memories.

That mirror really did it for them.

And in the photo you can see this perfect little concrete half wall between the toilets and the dry area. It’s taller than the sinks. Too short to do the job as a barrier, but too tall to be a bench, in other words, _perfect Chris height,_ Phichit smirks, remembering. The top was recently upgraded with a smooth, cool, lacquered beam of cherry-colored faux-wood. Many arenas were testing the spa decor trend these days, in the cheapest way possible, of course. Just tack some polyurethane accent pieces on top of the prison-wall concrete! There, _perfect!_

But he had to hand it to them, it was the best spot imaginable for Chris to suspend him in the air, lean him gently back so his hands, pressed into the 'wood' behind him, could support his torso. And make wild, maddening love, staring alternately at each other and their pumping profile in the floor-to-ceiling mirror right across from the barrier. 

No matter what happens, the locker room competition was the best idea Phichit's ever had.

\----------------------------------

When Phichit left them, promising to find details about Victuuri's fainting fans, he made a beeline for Chris. Panting by the time he finds him, he tugs on Chris' sleeve with both hands, catching his breath. 

"Bae! Come with me!" and then he dissolves into giggles at the double entendre he didn't intend, for once.

Chris is right there with him, chuckling, "I'd love too."

Having started this way, he can't help but keep going: "No, I need you to," he snorts, "I'm serious..." 

"I'd never joke about coming with you." In this crowded arena full of thousands, Chris' eyes see nothing but the way his hot little latte bubbles and froths for him. They may be alone in an empty building for the intensity of his focus. "Never, my Petit."

Phichit takes a moment to soak in the nickname he loves so much.

Damn, this is going to be amazing.

Beaming, blushing, "I need you to, right now, with me..." and he gives up and falls into Chris' arms, laughing.

"I assume you mean somewhere... close? I can't leave the arena yet."

Phichit nods with such enthusiasm against his ribs it actually tickles. When Chris flinches, trying not to laugh, Phichit knows. He pokes a perfect manicured fingernail right into the ticklish rib lining and squirms the tip fiendishly until Chris shivers all over. Puffing up soft like a teddy bear, the Swiss clutches his arms around Phichit's torso to lift him off the ground and cease the onslaught.

Phichit braces his hands on Chris' shoulders, arching back and pointing his toes away like he's just been lifted in a pairs skate. Then he raises his arms over his head in a outstretched flourish for effect. Chris laughs and squeezes him.

"Where to?" And god, that baritone rumble in his chest.

The little Thai twists his waist as much as he can in those big bulky arms and points "To the locker room!" Then he swats Chris' bicep, "Mush!"

As he carries his cargo to their destination, Chris purrs "You know dogsled teams are more a Canadian thing, right?"

"Who cares? You're my husky puppy!" hugging around Chris' neck.

They haven't had much time for this sort of thing. Their schedules have been all over the place, completely incompatible since they arrived, with the exception of the night before their short programs, and they spent half of that at the restaurant with the other skaters. Otherwise, there's been a quickie or two, but not much opportunity for gratuitous flirtation like this. Phichit hasn't seen Chris since China, so he's going to take everything he can get. 

Chris is just as into the simple sweetness of any time they spend together. Phichit is like a dessert on cheat day. He wants to indulge, binge, and repeat. Right now, especially, the jewel in his arms is a bonus prize Chris won for earning his way to the GPF, even though he didn't medal. The perfect elfin angel in his arms, buzzing with sexual energy and so much positive liveliness in general, is a balm to his wounded ego. The Swiss skater will do anything to make his little fey happy.

Phichit squirms before Chris can kick open the door to the locker room and barks:

"Put me down, handsome,” rapidly patting his shoulders.

"Hmmm? Wasn't the whole point to get inside together?" He sets his lover down. 

Phichit shakes his head, smiling. Chris used to recognize this as the universal sign for 'okay, that's one penetration pun too many, mister,' a gesture Chris is very familiar with in his daily interactions. But with Phichit it means 'never stop making penetration puns, because I can't get enough.' And Chris doesn't believe his luck. He’s probably blushing just thinking about it. He can’t tell because his whole body is humming with expectation.

"The point is," Phichit looks around Chris' body, down the hall, to their left and right, conspiratorial. Then he grabs Chris' crossed forearms and rises up on his toes to tell a secret. "Victor and Yuri are in there,” he bites his lip, “I _interrupted_ them earlier!"

Chris' eyes blow wide and his lips pucker in an "Ooohhh." His strong hands slide up and down the sides of the Thai's tiny waist. "You do like me don't you?" with a little extra rumble under the words from deep in his chest, so he can watch his lover melt.

It works for a second. Then Phichit’s big doe eyes turn cunning, predatory, as he sweeps them over his prize with a little smirk. That's it. Chris is attracted to his femininity, his petite, graceful form. But when a very male animal stalks beneath those irises, his dick springs to attention. Phichit makes it much worse by commanding: 

“I want us to make love louder and wilder than them.”

Practically smelling the arousal flowing through Chris, the spicy Thai pirouettes and holds a finger to his lips, sneaking the door open and fluttering inside, silent as a butterfly. 

"Ooo! Right here," he whispers, tiptoeing unnecessarily. He gestures to the floor-to-ceiling mirror across from them. "Where I can see us."

Noticing the half wall and its too-perfect height, Phichit hops up, spreading his limbs to beckon Chris back to his embrace. "Did you cum on the ice again, Bae?"

Nuzzling himself in close, "I knew you were watching,” his kisses between thick, black brows, “What do you think?"

"I think you flatter me," he pretends to be modest, batting his eyes, but then winks, "and flattery will get you everywhere." 

"I still can't promise I'll last long with you..." they hear a muffled moan, long and hollow, "...and _them_... like this," he swallows. 

"I'm not worried about that, Toon hua, jaa." Of the various endearments he tried in his own language, Chris picked that one, saying he enjoys the way Phichit’s lips purse when he coos around the syllables. It sort of means ‘beloved’, but is a bit old fashioned for Phichit, so he often adds a playful, amorous ‘jaa’ on the end. He unzips Chris' jacket, slowly, tooth by tooth, watching the progression in the glass.

The two-tone blond tilts his head at their reflection. "You know, usually with mirrors," he begins.

"Oh! You have some good stories?"

Chris blushes, his dark, thick lashes fluttering. He clears his throat, a gravely sound that throbs Phichit's growing chub. "As I was saying," he pecks his lips to Phichit's forehead. The little man always interrupts people, getting excited during any conversation when he has something to share. Chris used to find it rude and annoying, but now he’s become familiar with the rapid crossfire that is typical Thai conversation. He returns their attention to the image beside them. Shedding his jacket, and pulling Phichit's over his head as they both watch. "Usually, the way to do it with a mirror is doggie style," and just saying it makes their groins roll together. Phichit kicks off his pants and Chris smiles fondly at them both, hands circling the meat of his lover's hips. 

"But this mirror," Phichit grips with clenching thighs and rides his body up and down the Swiss mountain, rolling over ski slopes, fingers dusting, light as flurries. He watches the way Chris’ legs strain as he arches up on his toes.

“It’s a full body image for both of us…” a demonstrative roll of hips, helpfully sliding down his pants, making Phichit's grin go ear to ear. "I don't know if I've ever had mirror sex like this."

They hear a wrenching sound from Victor. They feel each other flinch, both dicks twitching. Phichit pulls Chris down for a kiss. It's a hard-candy kind of a kiss, like rolling a peppermint around his mouth, slurping, sucking, laving. He scuffs his chin back and forth along Chris’ goatee, loving the way it prickles and snickering through his nose, smiling in the kiss. They only break when he surprises Chris by tucking a bottle of lube into his wide palm.

Chris pulls back, brow scrunched in surprise. He flicks the top, and Phichit feels the need to explain:

“I got it out of my bag when I realized Yuri and Victor were...” 

There's an echoing throaty sigh from Yuri in the showers. The sound speeds up Chris' hands as he coats himself and slicks his lover's pliant and thirsty balloon knot, which expands, straining for him, the moment his fingertips find the spot.

Once they get started, once he’s finally seated, Phichit lets the challenge begin. He's not much louder than he normally would be, at first. But then he starts watching that impressive cock drilling in and out of his widespread body in the mirror and his rhythmic sobs jump several decibels.

That's when the showers around the corner go silent.

This is the best. “This is _the best!_ ” He screams out in Thai. Phichit’s never been with a man like Chris, a man who can keep up with him, handle all his hamster-on-crack energy all the time. And it’s amazing, because Chris is _such_ a man, such a big, stout, manly, man-meat of a man. He throws his head back on another whoop of pleasure like he’s bouncing in the seat of a jet ski.

It's around this time, he notices their challenge was accepted. Victor's moans reach him first.

And then, oh, the sounds Yuri’s making in there. Phichit is so happy for him. This is probably the happiest Phichit’s ever been during sex. This is an all-around, show-stopping bang, right here, and he looks at himself in the mirror for confirmation, to see the once-in-a-lifetime vision.

Yep. He looks like he’s having the most fun he’s ever had getting pounded by the biggest, sexiest, strongest man he’s ever been with. If Chris wouldn’t kill him, he’d take a pic of them, just like this. He watches their bodies, rocking together, until Chris looks over too and their eyes meet in the mirror. And they both grin toothy, tabloid, smiles at one another, before their sex faces break through, all tongues and glorious straining. Phichit blinks several times, his eyelids acting as camera lens. He’ll always remember the way they look right now.

\----------------------------

Sighing when the unforgettable image appears in his mind, Phichit wishes he had a mirror like that right now. What kind of hotel room doesn’t have a full length mirror? He’s checked the inside of every closet door. Did some drunk frat guys break it down? Or is he going to have to complain about this glaring omission to the management? Phichit stands on the wide, flat rim of his ‘garden’ tub so he can see his entire body in the mirror above the sink. He risks breaking his leg to pivot and look at his ass. All good, of course.

He hops down and leans over the sink counter again. As he adds one more swipe to his eyeliner, (so what if it's a bit overdone? Chris'll like it) he's nervous and excited. Will Yuri flip when they see each other? Is Yuri going to kill him? Or worse, storm silently out of the bar? No one pouts like that boy, oh my god. But Phichit doesn’t want to lose his friend over this silly, oh-so-sexy, whim.

He doesn’t know why he did it. He doesn’t have a good excuse and he knows Yuri can be very squeamish about sex stuff to begin with. So why did he drag Chris in there and fuck his brains out with his shy best friend _docking_ (omg, that’s a whole other conversation!) in basically the same room? He’s going to _need_ to know more about that docking, though. He’s never tried it. He and Chris could do it, but it always seemed like way too kinky of a thing. Too bad he and Chris didn’t get to have the docking talk afterward. His Swiss Roll had to run back to his coach, who was already blowing up his phone by the time Phichit hopped in his arms to kiss him goodbye and take that fully-clothed mirror selfie. But he knows the talk is coming. Chris gasped just as loud as Phichit when he heard Yuri say that mess. 

He’s always wanted to talk to Yuri about stuff like that, graphic sexual details and stories or advice. But no, Yuri doesn’t kiss and tell. Yuri doesn’t like it when Phichit initiates a conversation about porn, even. He clamps up and ignores him, just like this ghosting on Insta right now! He remembers when Yuri lost his virginity after a party. Phichit jumped up and down on his bed in celebration and all Yuri had to say was: ‘He was a really nice guy. We had fun. He lives in Seattle, I think. I’ll never see him again, thank goodness.’ 

Phichit realizes he’s been pacing and he’s all ready to go, there’s no more prep to keep him stalling.

So he straightens his shoulders, flips his hair, texts Chris _“I’m almost there, Bae, don’t stop,”_ flicks off the light, and prances out into the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that as good for you as it was for me? Damn, I hope so.  
> The bar is gonna be a good time, too.  
> Also, your love sped up my update rate from 2 weeks to 6 DAYS. Thank you. Please keep it up.


	4. Razing the Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri never talks about sex. Not even with a lover, let alone friends, in a bar, where anyone can hear, or worse, recognize them.  
> Maybe he's dead and gone to hell for his sins?  
>   
> Victor's never had so much fun.  
>   
> And they both get the dirty deets of Chris and Phichit's first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sick for a week, then this chapter gave me so much heartburn. I really struggled, writing too much, cutting scenes, and keeping all the puns. In the end, this is the longest chapter I've ever written. Please let me know if you enjoy it! (Seriously, my head-bully had a field day with this one). And thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Oh! I posted another thing in the interim! Angst with a happy ending, Yurio in episode 12: [ Don't Leave Me ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10509684) . A colab with my glorious beta for this chapter [ Nomanono ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomanono/pseuds/Nomanono)

“Now, now. A good sportsman always greets the losing team, love,” Victor flexes his grip to steer Yuri toward Chris’ round red booth near the back. His devilish smile splits the lower half of his face, “It’s polite to shake hands, you know.”

“This is the most humiliating thing you’ve ever made me do,” Yuri growls, trudging like any man doomed to an unbearably awkward, forced interaction.

“I don’t recall _making_ you go all competitive in the shower.” His hand glides up Yuri’s back, attempting to sooth. “I gave you a couple outs.” 

"Victor!" he sidesteps the caress along his spine, snapping, "How could we walk out of there?! Wait for them to finish?" Yuri’s protests only help to make his face go as scarlet as the cushions they're approaching. 

“You conveniently forget how very _into it_ you were," Victor pouts, hoping Yuri doesn't genuinely regret anything. He coaxes Yuri closer to reassure in his ear, "Hanging out with him now doesn't mean we have to talk about _that._ " The coach smirks, with a final whisper, “I just need to hear this gossip. Aren't you the least bit intrigued?”

Yuri huffs, but he grins and clasps Victor's hand with a squeeze, confirmation enough. To be honest, he _is curious_ about how and why Phichit got together with Chris. And he doesn't have the guts to ask Phichit, or talk to him about it _at all_. He can't even get over his squeamishness long enough to click a heart icon under Phichit's mirror selfie! He does feel heart-shaped about that selfie, though. It's a loveable image and Phichit looks so happy.

When he and Victor discussed the selfie, briefly, they agreed they must have been wrong about the position their competitors were in by the sinks. Yes, a mirror was involved, but no one was bent over in front of it. Somehow, that seemed so much more romantic! 

Okay, yes. With just Chris at the table, Victor can do most of the talking, get the details, and then they can leave. Yuri squeezes Victor's hand one more time. He's on board now and he sees his lover's last-second secret smile.

Victor beams as they reach Chris’ table, “Christophe! Drinking alone? Unacceptable!”

“Mille mercis!" the Swiss raises his glass in salute, "You've saved me from such embarrassment!” The two friends and ex-lovers embrace as Victor slides in next to him. 

Yuri’s going to need to know _so much more_ about their relationship now. He can't help but notice that the upper half of the wall behind their booth is made of textured mirrored glass. Noticing makes Yuri's thighs bump into the round table twice as he fumbles into the booth beside Victor. 

"Speaking of embarrassment, sorry for your loss," Victor clears his throat, " _on the ice_ , Mon cher ami."

Yuri double takes. How in hell does that qualify as NOT talking about it? 

There is a cut to the line of Chris' lips Yuri can't remember seeing before.

"Likewise," the Swiss makes eye contact with them both, "my sincere congratulations on your Victuuri," deliberately curling his tongue through the extra u's, making his mispronunciation as deliberate as possible. 

Yuri's instincts tell him to say something self-deprecating, compliment Chris' program, or even start apologizing for his fiancé. Then with a shared peal of laughter, any tension that might have cropped up between the older men fizzles away like bubbles in Yuri's vodka tonic.

"Are you drinking a White Russian?" Victor accuses his friend. He snatches the thick concoction and takes a whiff. "You are!" He shows the drink to Yuri like his lover can’t clearly identify it. “Still pining for me?”

"Egotistic, much?” Chris shakes his head and tsks. “Don't be alarmed, Yuri," reaching across the table to pat his hand. "I enjoyed Russian cream _before_ I met Victor." Yuri chokes as some fluid goes down the wrong pipe. 

The other two laugh with such fervor, clapping one another on the back, Yuri feels like he's on the outside of some private joke between the pair. This feeling continues. He discovers the two like teasing one another about sexual exploits, in particular. The raunchy humor and exchanged low blows seem like a bizarre form of aftercare; talking about their recent group sex in the locker room without actually talking about it. 

This strategy definitely works for Yuri.

Satisfied and increasingly comfortable, he orders a beer and an appetizer. Both should help him avoid irresponsible levels of drunk. The way today has gone so far, he can’t imagine what these two might instigate. Well, he can. But he doesn’t want to. Not really. Anyway, Yuri's snapped out of this thought when Chris utters a loud exclamation: 

"Oh what a night!" he downs the rest of his White Russian in a gulp. "Yuri, I told him this Portuguese snowboarder was too much for him! And then he goes and..." 

"No, no, no!" Victor flurries his hands in front of the Swiss' face; his eyes go all squinty, heart smile taking over his face. "You are not to speak of this anymore, mon ami! I don't want my Yuri knowing such embarrassing things about me!" Leaning into the crook of Yuri's shoulder, two arms hugging Yuri's bicep.

Yuri sees a chance to participate. "You think I'm not sufficiently embarrassed by you already?" 

Chris guffaws.

Victor sobs and shoves away from Yuri, sliding around the curve of the table and attempting to seek shelter in the breadth of Chris.

Yuri shares a knowing smile with the Swiss who raises his hands as if to tell Victor he'll find no refuge here on his side of the booth. 

"OH no, sir!" And as Victor whines, Chris crosses his arms. "Despite my drink of choice, you can’t come running to me anymore. Phichit's got me wrapped around his tiny little fingers."

Yuri perks up. That's the first time Chris mentioned Phichit. It’s nice to know Chris feels so strongly about his attachment and Yuri says as much.

“Aw, Chris. That’s sweet. I’ve heard people say Phichit can be addictive.” Yuri's dying to know how the heck this pairing happened! He's thinking of a way to ask.

Then Chris startles both Yuri and Victor when he utters a cat-calling whistle.

Yuri freezes. He didn’t realize his friend was joining them. Baka! Of course Phichit would want to have drinks with them. Why didn’t he think of that? Just as he was mustering up the courage to ask Chris, too!

Phichit’s eyes lock on the group in the round red booth and he waves with a hop for joy. Victuuri’s still here! As he trots to the back, his gaze falls immediately on Yuri, who hasn’t looked up at him. Poor dear looks so tense and uncomfortable. 

Well, Phichit’s here now. He can make it better!

Yuri swallows and clutches Victor’s free hand under the table. He’s not ready to see Phichit. Yuri hasn't wrapped his head around _Phichit having crazy loud sex and… oh god… Phichit hearing Yuri and Victor…_ yet. Not yet. He slams the rest of his beer in throaty gulps before his best friend even reaches the table. Victor squeezes his upper thigh for reassurance, not looking at him. Yuri can only hope it’s meant to say: 'we can bail any time you want.' 

No. That's not what he wants. Yuri silently reminds himself he’s in this booth to get the deets on his best friend's new, apparently passionate, love affair.

\---------------------------------------

A couple months ago, Phichit stood next to Yuri in the green room and made jokes about Chris' _Intoxicated_ performance leaving the ice soaking wet. Phichit understood Yuri was too preoccupied by leadership on the scoreboard to notice his friend's squirmy hips. 

Phichit’s shimmy was a tell. His roommate always pointed it out whenever the young Thai saw something he really, really wanted. Yuri first caught it when Phichit unexpectedly met his third hamster in a mall pet store. Now Phichit felt himself shudder as Chris waved to the stands. Maybe it was just a craving for resolution?

Two years ago, this skating sex symbol shunned Phichit on Grindr, during the younger man’s first attempts with the app. Phichit got over it, of course; he chatted Chris up as more of a joke than anything. Just to see if he could. Now he wondered how he lost Chris’ interest so quickly. Instinctively, he turned to confide in Yuri and ask for his friend’s advice. Should he confront Chris? Flirt with him? Ignore this urge altogether? 

But Victor was escorting a shaken, dopey-looking Yuri from the room. No matter. Phichit would figure this out without his bff, for once!

Back at the hotel, he and Celestino headed down the hallway from the lobby to the elevators. Chris and his coach came towards them, probably going out for the night. Chris stared at his phone, smiling in a far-off way. Phichit became fully enamored at that moment. He imagined Chris’ face looking steamy-dreamy while scrolling through Phichit’s teasing texts and IG posts. 

Before he could tell his feet what to do, they slowed a couple paces behind Celestino and continued forward, one step too far to the left. His elbow and shoulder bumped against Chris’ as they passed one another. 

Chris slowed his pace, but didn’t stop, and twisted slightly to look down and around.

Phichit hadn’t planned this far ahead. In his memory, he imagines he looked impossibly smitten, with a slight blush and a silent, smiling head nod of apology. When Chris acknowledged him with a grin, he’s positive he did a doofy one-handed wave of some sort! UGH. Such a fanboy! He tried to trot off, like he wasn’t totally embarrassed, catching up to Celestino, who was still saying something Phichit missed entirely.

But Chris grinned at him! And maybe, just maybe, there was a twinkle in the Swiss man’s eye.

They were side by side in the stands watching when that beautiful Victuuri kiss happened out of nowhere. Phichit clapped wildly, hands the tempo of a rabbit's heart, hopping up and down, and squealing like any number of teenage girls in the stands all around.

When he turned his overjoyed eyes on Chris, he found the man looking charmed, bemused, but with a noticeable pang in his eyes. He couldn't tell, not knowing Chris at all, if it was loneliness, frustration, anger, or what. But his instinct was to saddle up close and try to comfort: 

"Don't worry, handsome. They're cute, but you melt the ice!"

He didn't mean to spout a cheesy come on! But he did. As soon as the words were out, he knew he'd said them with implication. In Chris' expression he saw understanding mixed with amusement. At least he got the guy’s attention. His own glowing smile never faltered and he continued:

"I mean, I bet Yuri doesn't top either of us!"

Wait, what?!

Did he really just say that? Laughter rolled in Chris' eyes, though he didn't make a sound, just sat there grinning and staring at Phichit with interest, considering. Phichit felt naked, roasting beneath the heat lamp of the sex god's inspection. Until those green eyes turned to the scoreboard.

"You're still on top, little man," Chris stood to leave, then leaned down close, "for now." 

Phichit felt the purr in that voice like Chris' lips were around his dick! The Swiss recited his number as Phichit's thumbs whirled to enter it in his phone. 

"Text me tonight." 

And that was it.

Eyeing Chris’ ass below him on the podium, feeling the anticipatory heat between them at the press conference, he couldn’t remember ever being so on fire with lust. Damn it. He was going to be such a needy little slut about this, wasn’t he? Phichit didn’t want to try and shift gears now, be more seductive or cooler. No way. He got what he wanted and he couldn’t wait, couldn’t be bothered with overthinking.

Later, Phichit paced his room, making himself up as moderately as possible. Not too much, not too little. Same with the clothes. Alluring, but not needy. He was in control here, had instigated all of this. Even his text was a simple: "My place or yours?" to which Chris responded with his room number.

In his pacing, Phichit worried sex with Chris may be like a jackhammer. That's what he expected, a man that pounds. Hell, maybe it'll even be too painful. And a nervousness coursed under his flesh, deep inside his loins. Because, damn, wouldn't that be an awful waste? 

\----------------------------------------

"There you are, My Petit!" Chris reaches to pull him into the booth with an outstretched arm.

"Chris-toffee!!" Phichit leaps at him, slinging himself sideways into the curved bench seat with all his usual elasticity. He ducks neatly into Chris’ embrace. 

Yuri cringes. "Really, Phichit? _Chris-toffee?_ " He fake-shudders at his friend, smiling big, but clinging to Victor under the table for support. "That's rough. Even for you."

Victor grins, nervous and not knowing where Yuri is going with this. "I like My Petit, though," he offers, shaking his empty drink back and forth, cubes rattling as he indicates the size difference between the pair. "It's perfect!"

Yuri’s taking the comedic aftercare cue from Victor and Chris. "Puns are bad for you," he admonishes, waggling a finger at his old roommate. "I'm so ashamed!" He turns his face away, nose in the air, so the drama queen.

"Puns are the highest form of comedy!" Phichit dives happily into the old argument, a playful banter they rehash at least once a month for fun. He’s glad Yuri chose this comfortable territory as his icebreaker. Impressed, even. Yuri never used to have coping mechanisms for awkward or anxiety-riddled situations. Victor has been good for him.

"Your English is slipping," the silver medalist sighs, all sympathetic. "You meant 'lowest'. That's the term for worst, least of a series, poorest in quality."

"You love the puns. Admit it!"

“I hate the puns. You admit they’re dumb!” 

“Even if they are, you _love’em_ cause you love ME!” 

"Hmph,” Yuri sounds like a diva, “Unreciprocated! Since you must hate me.” 

“Never!” Phichit laughs, splaying his hands across his own chest, a lover shocked.

“You know a tiny piece of my brain gets cancer with every pun!"

"Says the _JAPANESE_ man!"

Yuri slides down in his seat, glowering, but defeated for the moment. Victor looks confused. Up to now, he understood it was his turn to sit silently as an outsider while two bffs dealt with their unresolved tension. But at the nationality jab, plus Yuri’s pouty reaction, he cocks a questioning brow at Chris.

Phichit relishes the chance to explain. "Ninety-five percent of Japanese popular culture is in the form of punny humor.” He snatches Chris’ drink from the table and uses it to toast. “Puns are a true Japanese artform!"

Yuri looks huffy. This is not part of their usual script for this faux-fight. He doesn't like it when he becomes the butt of anyone's jokes, least of all his best friend. Phichit notices the shift to self-consciousness in those deep, familiar eyes and changes gears just as quickly.

"Too bad Yuri isn't a typical Japanese man,” he explains to Victor, sighing dramatically before he sips Chris’ drink with a thoughtful air. “If only he wasn't the best skater in Japan and the second best in the world..." giving Yuri's leg a nudge with his foot under the table, " _maybe_ then he'd appreciate puns!" He flourishes by reaching across the table for a fist bump which Yuri returns with enthusiasm. Their fingers interlock after making a pretend explosion, both laughing.

Victor marvels at Phichit's ability to handle Yuri's mood swings, taking copious mental notes.

The waiter brings the Thai’s first drink, a bizarre tequila concoction called Los Federales, which he had to try because tequila and chocolate? Yes please. The smiley, young man then refreshes Chris’ White Russian, because he lost the second one to his boyfriend, and passes Victuuri a pair of vodka tonics.

The spritely attendant runs back to the bar to grab a pitcher of water for the table, which no one asked for, but Yuri appreciates. His appetizer is gone. What a surprise! Four professional athletes inhaled a platter of house-made tortilla chips and cheesy bean dip. That, plus the beer, made him bloaty. So, he’s back to mixed drinks and water. He hopes he’ll be okay.

Yuri takes the pitcher and his hand accidentally grazes the server’s. He turns it into a handshake, thanking the beaming teenager for being so thoughtful.

With the poor fellow still standing there, looking bashful, Victor teases his lover for flirting, “You’re so shameless, Yuuuurri!” and before anyone can continue the barbs and heckles, their waiter squeals.

“I knew it was you! All of you!” He goes full-on fanboy, rattling off his love of their programs, their seasons so far. Victor leans with his chin in both hands, giving the kid rapt attention, and smiling like a centerfold.

Yuri groans. “He starts stroking your ego, and _now_ who’s the flirt, Victor?” 

This earns a big laugh from Phichit, but Victor ignores them both.

“Hmmmm,” Chris sighs, “Pretty boy here can stroke anything he likes.” 

Phichit ushers the waiter into the booth for a selfie with all of them. He posts it and tags their new friend, Jorge.

The gushing server thanks them all profusely. Then looking only at Phichit, Jorge blushes, gulps down his mortification, and rapid-fires: “I saw you on Grindr, chat me up sometime!” And he bounds back to his bartender, who has a tray of drinks waiting on him. 

“Achem,” Phichit clears his throat and smiles all demure, “talk about a fanservice request!” Chris snorts, blowing milk bubbles in his glass. Their bodies lean even closer, somehow.

Victor turns to Yuri, grinning ear to ear, “So, Jorge and Phichit are on Grindr too, eh?” 

Of course. Victor has to expose Yuri’s promiscuity to the world! Yuri shrinks down and Victor cuddles an apologetic arm around his waist, but keeps right on chuckling at his discomfort, the bastard.

"These kids today," Chris groans to Victor, "with their Grindr and Tinder and probably a dozen other anonymous sex apps I'm too old to know of.” He sighs, mournful, “takes all the fun out of the chase, if you ask me." 

"Spoiled rotten!" Victor slaps the table with a smack people in other parts of the bar can hear. He gives a pointed eye-squint down to Yuri. "We couldn't just swipe our phones to find a quick lay when we were their age!"

"Not that my seniority stopped me from trying Grindr out from time to time!" Chris laughs and Phichit laughs with him.

Yuri's eyes go wide. It's the booze that makes him ask,

"So **Grindr** is how you two...?"

But there's not enough booze in him yet to finish that horrifically embarrassing question. In fact, his face goes crimson because, of course, the entire bar went suddenly silent right before he blurted the word _Grindr_ out far louder than necessary for polite table conversation. He swallows and looks around to see if anyone is staring.

Not that it matters, everyone's staring in his mind.

Victor's shocked at Yuri's suggestion and afraid Phichit or Chris will be offended. They seem so cute and sweet together! It's obviously more than just sex for them. Plus, having never used the app himself, Victor doesn’t know some men are actually on there looking for relationships.

He’s relieved when neither of their friends look offended, just googly eyed and amorous, gazing at each other.

Phichit laughs to break the odd silence. “No. We didn’t hookup the first time because of Grindr, Yuri!”

“Although we did Grindr chat two years ago,” Chris’ voice is smooth and suggestive, with knowing eyes only for Victor. The Russian swallows. He senses Yuri in his periphery pretending not to notice while doing some math in his head.

“And then he blocked me!” Phichit whines, reaching across the table for Yuri’s hand, which he clutches for sympathy like the most jilted of lovers. “I felt so unattractive and worthless!” His voice an octave higher for dramatic emphasis. Victor chuckles, thinking Phichit sounds like Georgi right now.

Yuri squeezes back and smiles in an unspoken apology for not responding to the Instagram selfie earlier. Phichit bats his lashes and beams forgiveness. They’re still very good at communicating privately this way, Yuri pats himself on the back, even after all the time apart.

Chris clears his throat and speaks only to Victor, ignoring the old roommates’ mockery. “Call me old fashioned,” he sips his drink, “but I didn’t want to fuck a teenager.”

“Excuse me!?” Phichit whirls on his lover. “My barely legal status was clearly visible when you starred me, Mister conservative pants!”

“Who said I favorited you, hmm?” 

“You did.” Phichit considers, chin tilting to the side. “In fact, I think you opened with that! The one word: _Star_ in your little chat bubble.” Phichit rolls his eyes. “So original!”

“I didn’t notice your age.” Chris’ knuckles skirt Phichit’s jawline. “I was too overcome by your glowing smile, petit cheri.”

"Hmmmmm..." Victor leans into Yuri, romanced by all the affection on the other side of the table, "so, if Grindr didn't get you guys together?"

"It was 'Intoxicated'," Phichit smiles, "I saw it online, of course, before China. But seeing it live..."

"He bumped into me afterward..."

"And that's not a sex pun!"

"Well..."

"No, Bae! Before _that_ I literally did like the accidental bump in the hallway like I was in high school or something!"

"You're not still in high school?" Chris looks shocked. "My Petit! Poor Jorge will be crushed when he finds out!”

“We literally _just_ had this conversation!” Phichit kicks him, more like a toe nudge than a kick. “Find a new insult, will you? I’m not here to get bored.” 

“Well, the mind isn’t so nimble in my old age…” and his lover’s feet start to fight back.

Yuri sighs, besotted by these two cuties being cute together. His best friend and Victor’s, it’s like a romantic comedy or something. He never would’ve pictured them together, but they’re so perfect. Victor must be thinking the same thing, because they exchange a grin, making Yuri prompt, “Please, tell us more!”

\----------------------------

Yuri and Victor didn’t stay long at the banquet after the Cup of China. Their elation was tempered by fielding a crowd full of questions about their first kiss. Questions to which Yuri increasingly disliked Victor’s coy and playful answers. Despite how celebratory they’d been at the rink, the press conference, and in their hotel room, Yuri’s anxiety got the better of him at the banquet. Victor provided chaste and loving comfort for the rest of the night.

Phichit remembered the couple leaving not long after he congratulated them on their _big moment_ and took a selfie in between them, hugging each of their necks and laughing. Yuri hugged him tight, expressing all his hyper-emotional pride that Phichit won a gold medal after skating his dream choreography. Phichit followed that up with a soft joke about Yuri’s dreams coming true today as well, and a wink. Yuri had flushed, but chuckled genuinely. And that was all Phichit saw of them at the banquet.

He was sorry they left, but assumed they preferred to celebrate horizontally. Which is exactly what he was planning on doing! He continually kept one eye on his prize throughout the festivities. Chris was glued to Karpisek most of the night. Celestino was equally cockblocking. As they’d both medaled, their coaches felt a sacred charge to force the skaters through the rounds of glad-handing and endorsement seeking. Phichit’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

 _“I think he has calf implants,”_ read a text from Chris. Phichit swallowed a snort and tried to hide chortling with a glass of champagne. He and Celestino just spent half an hour courting a shoe label rep whose pants were tailored a size too small, showing off disproportional calves, for sure. Apparently, Chris and Karpisek dealt with him earlier in the evening. Phichit’s eyes scanned the guy’s pants once more from behind, as the rep moved on to talk to a couple of female skaters.

_“Should’ve had an ass job. Those $$$ pants are wasted on flat cheeks.”_

Phichit watched Chris in his periphery as the Swiss lifted his phone. He saw his shoulders shake and the little man’s chest beamed with pride. Which quickly turned to bashful arousal when the response read:

_“Agreed. A bubble butt like yours would fill them out so well.”_

Their game continued for over an hour.

_“I sincerely hope that’s a wig!”_

_“Spray-on Tan Man has broccoli in his teeth.”_

_“YAWN. This guy talks like a cartoon turtle.”_

_“Watch out. She’s a groper!”_

_“I need an adult!”_

Their coaches finally seemed sated close to midnight and they were released to their own devices. Chris caught Phichit’s eyes from across the room, turned without making any other gestures, and left through the door closest to him. Phichit found his nearest exit and escaped into the dim halls.

He rounded two corners, skin abuzz, heart racing with adrenaline, expecting to see Chris, or be caught by him from behind. His new lover would appear and press him into a wall, like the heroine in all his favorite classic romance movies. Or any modern manga, really! He kept looking over his shoulder as he searched.

Finally, he saw Chris standing in an open elevator, waiting. Phichit trotted to join him, but as he was about to enter, Chris placed a hand in the center of his chest, keeping him out. He appraised the Thai from hair to shoes. Then braced the doors open with his body on one side and his hand holding the other, like a bar before Phichit’s face. When Phichit squinted a question up at him, Chris smirked.

“Don’t come to my room empty handed, little man.”

Phichit’s spine snapped to attention, as if addressing a commanding officer. He smiled.

“What’s the cover charge tonight?”

The elevator dinged angrily at them for impeding its progress. They ignored it, as Chris considered.

“Finger foods and juice.”

“You’re a big bouncer to be guarding a daycare up there.” Phichit swirled a finger between Chris’ pecs.

“Non," Chris' smirk widened, "Adult entertainment, only,” he held Phichit’s hand still, thumb sliding salaciously through the grip of the young man's palm. “High energy required. Don’t want our sugar to drop, petite cheri. Must always be prepared.” And he winked.

Before Phichit could quip back, Chris removed himself from the angry doors, standing erect and handsome with his hands behind his back and a sinful grin curling his unkempt mustache. The doors closed on that image, a snapshot Phichit kept in his mind like a one-of-a-kind Giacometti trading card.

\--------------------

The soppy moon between the new lovers ignores everyone else at the table. Until Chris and Phichit notice the way Victor and Yuri are smiling at them: leaning on their elbows, chins in their hands, heads resting lovingly against one another. Chris coughs, wondering just how long Victuuri have been ogling them. Both their faces are warm, and Yuri does his best impression of the typical heart-shaped smile straining Victor's cheeks.

Chris also realizes he and Phichit’s footsie grew so pronounced they're jostling the table.

Never to be outdone, Victor and Yuri engage in some table-rocking foot cuddles of their own. The surface bulks back and forth once between the couples and they all grab for their partially tipped drinks, the game on pause. Everyone laughs, beverages recovered, held aloft, so under-table sports can resume.

Victor’s the first to halt their shenanigans when he notes the attention the ruckus is raising from a woman clearly dressed as management. 

Then a not-Jorge waiter brings Phichit his second drink and refills the table’s water pitcher.

Phichit can't help himself, he wants to talk about what happened earlier today. He wants Yuri to be cool talking to him about it. They need to be friends who can talk about sex! He likes the way all the jokes and jabs worked earlier. He might as well follow Yuri’s lead. 

"A woman in a movie once said,” Phichit laughs at his own ineptitude. Tequila maybe wasn’t the best choice, “sometimes the best part about sex is talking about it afterward!" 

"Only with the _bad_ lovers, darling," Chris snickers.

"Exactly! And Grindr can send you to some bad ones. Right, Yuri?" That’s better. Tying the earlier banter back in, Phichit’s pleased with himself and it shows. Chris locks their calves together in a tight leg hug of approval.

"Dish!" Victor squeals, rising out of his seat to lean across the table, overeager. "Tell me about you and Yuri's worst Grindr hookups!" He slurps at his straw, "I want vindication for not trying it out myself!"

But Yuri's defenses aren't down _that far,_ yet.

"No! Nope!” He tugs Victor back to his side. “We're not talking about mine. I'm not drunk enough for this!!"

"Challenge accepted!" Chris cheers, raising his glass. Victor whoops and clangs their drinks together so loudly one of the bartenders walks over to the edge of the bar and eyeballs their table again, before returning to her customers.

"Tell them about your tickler, Phichit," Yuri deflects, his smirk triumphant. There’s no way the other two won’t take this bait.

"Oh god. Oh no!” Phichit burrows his face in his palms, shaking his head. “That guy was such a weirdo!"

Chris leans in, almost salivating for more. Victor smooshes against Yuri, the vast booth mostly empty for how desperately all three of them are now crowding Phichit.

It’s the small Thai’s turn to make himself even more miniscule. He can’t slide down to the floor, because he’s still leg-locked with Chris. Yuri loves the blush he can spot darkening the side of Phichit’s neck, below his ear. He’ll help make it worse.

"So, Phichit’s 18, just started using Grindr,” Yuri swallows the rest of his drink. Chris and Victor are gripped with rapt devotion. “He invites the guy over to our dorm. The guy brings a pizza."

"Real gentleman." Victor groans. "Who can make out with a pizza burnt mouth and the inevitable indigestion?"

"College students?" Yuri offers, shrugging. He smiles when this elicits a moan from Phichit. The little man looks up from under his hands to squeak:

"He even ordered it with onions! Can you believe it?!"

All three of them shriek, and the other patrons notice.

"You never told me that!" Yuri’s glasses slide down his nose as he leans forward.

Victor’s finger pokes his chin, "Is food even typically a part of these hook ups you kids are doing?"

Chris scoffs, "Shut UP Victor! We _are not_ that old!" 

Phichit’s emboldened now, the center of attention. "Anyway, so we're standing next to the pizza box, just opened on the table, and we're eating the first slice, each, just sort of chewing and chatting." Phichit pauses, clearly for dramatic effect, and Yuri, knowing what's coming, can't help but giggle. Victor giggles too, in anticipation. Chris' eyes are so very squinty, his amazing lashes furtively clutching each other.

"Guys, he sets his slice of pizza down and tries to tickle me!” after the shrill gasps subside, “Both hands! All wiggle fingers, up one side of my body!!!" 

"Like a creepy clown!" Victor shudders into Yuri’s shoulder for safety.

"Or a touchy uncle! EEEwwww!" Chris waves his hands like he’s just touched a dead spider. 

"RIGHT?!" Phichit actually shouts. Now they all know their booth is louder than the rest of the bar. But it’s getting to be that time of the night. Surely, this is typical.

"Exactly!” Yuri clutches an arm protectively around faux-scared Victor’s shoulders and slaps the table with the other hand. “That's exactly what I said! The creepo vibe. It was so weird!"

"And I'm... holding pizza, guys! Like what the hell am I supposed to do in response to DEFEND against creepy touch???"

“Slap him with the hot greasy cheese slime!” Victor suggests like the guy might magically present himself to their table for them all to smack with pizza right now. 

Chris' fingers make little spider legs in the air. "Your helplessness was the whole point, petite cheri..." 

Phichit shudders and slides away from Chris who pursues him with ten dancing spider fingers.

He smirks across at Yuri and takes the opportunity to turn the tide. “Yuri, remember Dead Fish Guy who just sort of leaned against your face and didn’t move?!”

Yuri laughs. “Okay, okay, okay. Victor, I need to demonstrate!” He turns his body so he’s facing Victor. 

His fiancé is a giggly little mess at this point. But he really, really wants to hear this story. So, he tries to calm down enough to participate and take direction. Yuri squares Victor’s shoulders, forcing him to have good posture. 

“Now Victor,” he instructs, “I’m going to kiss your lips, but you _can not_ move!” 

“Oh come on,” Chris chides, “It couldn’t have been that bad.” 

“I’m trying to show you!” Yuri defends. 

Phichit’s hands cover the chortles erupting from his throat. 

Yuri demonstrates on Victor, to everyone’s amusement, he leans his face up to kiss Victor’s lips and Victor obediently doesn’t move his mouth or face at all. But then the Russian tries to put a hand in Yuri’s hair.

“No!” Yuri laughs and Phichit laughs too, “You can’t use your hands! You can’t move your body or your neck or your lips or your face at all!” 

Victor does better on the second try. The others laugh and snicker as Yuri opens his eyes while trying to do different things with his lips against Victor’s better impersonation of Dead Fish Guy. Yuri does a dramatic eye roll and he opens his mouth, mimicking his actions at this point many years ago. Victor can’t help but kiss him lavishly now. And Yuri pulls away laughing,

“I did what Victor’s doing! I even tried to open my mouth, expecting maybe he’d kiss me like that! Nope.” He downs the last of his drink, “He just smooshed his face against mine, like I was a sliding glass door!”

“Maybe he practiced on a mirror?” Chris offers, his whole body jiggling. 

“So he thought he’s supposed to move like the mirror?!” Victor laughs and hugs Yuri as hard as he can. “I’m so sorry, Yurakcha!”

“Okay,” Chris tries to breathe, wiping at a tear, “no more talk of bad kissers. Let me tell you, at the Cup of China, I knew My Petit was sexy and beautiful and intriguing.” Chris’ gaze locks with Phichit’s, then his eyes drop and hang on his lover’s full lips. “But he really hooked me when we had our first kiss.”

“Well, then he must not have done his classic _‘Sorry, but I don’t kiss first’_ line!” Yuri jabs, smirking at his friend. 

“He did!” Chris laughs, nudging his lover, “I had to think fast!”

“It’s not _that_ bad of a line!” Phichit defends himself, “I just want to be honest! And besides, Chris-toffee gave the _best_ answer I’ve ever, EVER heard…”

\------------------------------------------------

In Chris’ room, several minutes of small talk while nibbling the snacks he’d brought turned into an hour of real-talk, sitting together, but not all over each other, on the bed. It was so easy. They both felt right away this wasn’t an ordinary hookup. Or, at least, they didn’t want it to be, not anymore. 

They began flirtatious touches to emphasize points in their stories. A hand on a wrist. A grip of a shoulder. A nudge with a toe. Each little connection simmering, a meal waiting to be savored. 

Phichit knew they’d reached that moment. It was time to kiss or leave. He felt they had enough chemistry to kiss. So, what was Chris waiting for? Finally, he just came out with it.

"Not to be an effeminate stereotype,” he tilted his chin up at Chris, “but I am not the guy who kisses first."

"I see. Too bad. What if I'm not either?"

Phichit eyed him, with a pout, trying to decide if this was a tease, or if he'd have to be brave enough to dive at the Swiss' lips.

Chris thought Phichit’s admission was cute. He was trying to stall until some appropriate movie lines could be recalled. Most of the last half hour had been spent discussing Shall We Skate and comparing it to other great cinematic romances. Chris hadn't seen many American movies, but he knew one very well. Right when it looked as though Phichit might do the deed himself, Chris caught the young man’s chin.

"You need kissing badly," he leaned close, tilting his new lover’s lips upward, "You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how." 

Their lips did not make contact.

Because Phichit squealed so hard he might have hurt his throat.

"Are you saying you'll be my Rhett?!" Phichit squirmed his tail feathers into the sheets. "It's perfect!!” He rapid-clapped.

Chris was taken aback, interrupted in a huge romantic first kiss attempt, by this outburst. At the same time, the young man left him awestruck. What adorable energy!

Phichit made the bed bounce with his excitement. “Your voice is so gravely like his!” He dramatic sighed, as though swooning, “So deep and burly!"

Committing to character, Chris swept his arm around Phichit. Holding Phichit's tiny waist in the crook of an elbow, his chin held easily with two fingers, Chris smiled.

"Speaking of deep..." his hand slid back to grip the base of Phichit’s skull, craning that slim neck, mouth just parted. After a quick brush of soft lips, a teasing peck of pressure, Chris buried himself in the welcoming sponge of mouth, cheeks, tongue. He dived deeper, tackling his way toward Phichit's throat.

The young man hummed and purred, vibrating his entire moist mouth around its invader. Chris gasped at the new move, breaking them apart. Phichit dove after him, reconnecting, laving up and into Chris’ mouth with every ounce of his effervescence. His body pressed tight, legs hitching into the Swiss' lap. Then he was the one kissing downward, overpowering, deeper still.

Chris could only hold on tight. Had he ever been foolish enough to believe he had any control over this encounter? Phichit reeled him in for two days. He dimly wondered when he’d been hooked in the first place. Then Chris felt him. Their too-close bodies thrummed with urgency. Phichit ground the point home, again and again. Chris’ obedient arms clutched around that masterful, tight little body and swung them onto the mattress. Finally, Phichit was prone and perfect under him, exactly where the Thai wanted to be from the beginning.

\------------------------------------------------

“You quoted Gone With the Wind?!” Yuri’s hands slam down on the table. “Are you kidding me?!” 

“He did!" Phichit claps just like he did that night. "He really, really did!” And he dissolves like a sugar cube under hot water, giggling and quaking.

Victor is crying in his attempt not to laugh too hard. Gone with the Wind is the _worst_ movie ever! Actual tears stream over the sides of his red cheeks. The lead couple doesn't even end up together! How is that romantic? After trying to stop himself, he gives up and pools his head in his arms on the table, chortling harder and harder. He's never been a fan of grand, dramatic, epics. Victor likes his romances light, comedic, even silly. Now he's repeating: “As God is my Witness!” in a mocking tone.

“Don't judge!" Chris swats at him, tucking Phichit into his side. "Not everyone can sweep a man off his feet, literally, on live television!”

“But that couldn’t have been their first…” Phichit’s eyes widen when he sees the way Yuri gets sheepish. “Cup of China..." he gasps, then screams, "was your FIRST KISS?!?!!" Everyone hears the bar go quiet around them. 

Phichit stammers. Shock doesn't begin to cover it. He tries to recover,

"You mean all four of us…” Phichit is a bit wobbly, indicating everyone in the booth with a swirling finger, “had our first kisses the night of your free skate, Yuri?!”

Yuri nods, removes his glasses, folding them and setting them on the table, before burying his scarlet face in the soft tissue where Victor's chest meets his upper arm. They’re both so done. If only they could burrow down into the floor and hide.

Chris chuckles, “You should win more gold medals, mon cheri.” His voice goes sultry, “Your big heart effuses entire stadiums.”

“Hey!" Victor pops alert and challenges, way too loud, " _We_ made people FAINT earlier tonight!” Yuri looks up at him, interlaces their fingers, beaming with pride. He kisses Victor’s ring and begins laughing, shaking his head from side to side.

“This is crazy!” Rolling his eyes heavenward, “You and Chris have been a thing for months! And I had no idea until I heard you moaning in the shower today?” 

“Hey!” Phichit’s scowl is too cute. “I dinna know you guys were official til you had rings on your fingers! What’s that about?!”

“Yuri didn’t really know himself,” Victor snickers, “even then.” There’s a pang in his hazy eyes.

Phichit is oblivious to the implications, but Chris isn’t. He watches the confirmation in Victor’s features. Mon Dieu! What a mess.

Chris clears his throat. “Our flirting’s been very obvious on social media, gentlemen.” He chuckles into the last dregs of his final drink. He raises an arm in gesture to the bartender. It’s time to settle up.

“Yeah! You haven bin paying attention!” Phichit slurs, “Too wrap up in _sex_ with Victor!” 

Victor and Yuri both look aghast and noncommittal, trying to come up with something to say while looking at each other for answers and nervously laughing off Phichit’s accusation. Chris notices this too. It’s worse than he thought! Had these two… not even… until… earlier?

Yuri's chest starts to cave in and Phichit feels the mood dip, knows the subject must be changed fast. Too bad his liquor tolerance is what you'd expect for a person of his weight. Because without thinking, he blurts:

"So!" voice up an octave too high, then sing-songing: "Tell us about that doc-king!" He hiccups in the middle of the word.

Phichit thinks he hears a record scratch. 

They all seize up like the Thai mashed a pause button on a movie. 

His natural reaction is to keep talking until somebody hits 'play'.

"Were you just messin wit us?! Or did _that_ really happen in there?" 

Chris, the first to recover, smiles, hugs drunk Phichit close, and whispers, "Yes, tell us," pointedly looking at his lover, an instruction to lower his voice if he pipes up again. "I thought it was a ploy to get in our heads. Break our rhythm."

"Make us forfeit,” Phichit’s whisper is more of a high-pitched hiss, but it’s still quieter than he was. “Make us leave you alone!"

Yuri's mouth stammers and he might be drooling, eyes glazing over in shame. Victor grabs his shoulders to steady both Yuri and himself. The Russian recovers last, he’s closed his eyes, ducking his head into Yuri, trying so hard not to embarrass his sweet, sweet Yurakcha. His mind replays the image of their joined members writhing together, over and over. 

Chris sees Victor reliving the memory. "It's true!” he whisper-shouts. “Look, Petit!” and he claps his lover’s shoulder. “It did happen! Look at their faces!"

Scandalized, Phichit's fingers press to his lips, which form a slender "oh!" of shock and disbelief.

The newness of Victuuri's sexual relationship, Chris' deduction about its recent escalation, makes him relive his own most recent first time. He wonders if he looked as shell-shocked as Victor and Yuri are now. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Their first two rounds ended quickly, Phichit’s body taking Chris like his earliest memories of being inside a man. Chris’ skin was pink from exertion, the color crawling up his neck, and smeared over his pecs like Phichit poured paint on him from above. Speaking of delicious coloring, Phichit loved the strawberry red of the softening Swiss member. He licked his lips, remembered the weight of it, the plumpness filling his mouth. This oral fixation needed to be satisfied, so he closed suckling lips over the closest supple skin he could reach, which was between two of Chris’ ribs.

The Swiss body tightened up so fast.

“Ooo!” Phichit slurped, lips circling, and Chris flinched. “Did I find a tickle spot on our very first night together?” He rubbed his nose into the divot. Chris’ legs began shaking and Phichit was overjoyed. He leapt atop his Swiss mountain, straddling once more, and assaulted both sides of that tickly ribcage for all he was worth. He hadn’t considered repercussions. Chris’ physicality attracted Phichit for many reasons, chief of which, the strength that coursed and rippled beneath his smooth skin.

Those robust, muscly thighs locked against Phichit’s hips, clamping tighter to contain the little man’s struggles. And Phichit expected the fall, to be tossed beneath Chris’ irresistible body again. When it didn’t happen, he tried to attack with wiggling nails, only for his wrists to be snatched and held out, away from Chris’ susceptible flesh.

And there he was, on top, but pinned. He writhed, testing. Chris held him still.

The Thai’s arms flexed in the cuffs of his lover’s grip.

And Chris watched him harden. The dark dick straining each time he tried to free himself.

“Now who has a hand up, hmm?” Chris teased, growling and grinding. “I believe discovering your kink trumps the ticklish ribs, cher a mon coeur.”

Phichit bucked in his restraints. He loved how much harder Chris’ legs pressed, fought, held, won. His still sticky cock dribbled fresh precum. Efforts to be freed devolved into squirming neediness.

“Chistophe,” the Thai breathed. It was the first time he’d used his lover’s full name. Panting, bending as low as he could with the way Chris held his arms, he whispered, “Take me like this!”

That third time, Chris lasted much longer than Phichit.

\------------------------------------------

Yuri feels he needs to say something for himself and Victor. He was the instigator of their… particular kink… in the shower, after all. He clears his throat. “I… it’s one of my f-favorites in porn.” He admits in a rush of words, not looking at anyone. “And, Victor’s… uncut… and…” he gulps the last of his water down with a violent rattle of ice cubes. “I couldn’t resist?”

Victor’s eyes are still clasped shut, his heart smile plastered in more ways than one, pink from his hairline to the tip of his nose. He wants Yuri’s cock encased in his own. Right. Damn. Now. And thus has nothing left to contribute to this conversation.

“Oh, Yuri!” Phichit stands, rounds the table, and falls into Yuri’s side, hugging and squeezing him. “I always wann-ned talk to you ‘bout sex!”

Yuri smiles with such fondness, embracing his friend as hard as he can.

“Tell me errrrry thing!” Phichit squeaks beside him, rising up just enough to talk, supporting himself with one hand on Yuri and one on the table. “Wut’sit feel like? More like a hand job or being inside…”

The manager clears her throat and saves Yuri from answering this question or any of the dozens of others bubbling under Phichit’s lips. She’s standing there, arms behind her back, not exactly glaring at the table, but also not looking forward to this conversation. 

“I’m so very sorry. All of you are special guests, we know. But I must ask you to go.” She takes a step back to make room for them to stand, though none of them do. “Your conversation has gone from acceptable late night risqué to full-on pornographic. We’ve received too many complaints.” Chris and Victor both acknowledge her, nodding. Phichit and Yuri are a mess with giggles, wiggling into one another the harder they try to stop. “Thank you for understanding. We’ll send bottle service up to your rooms, if you like?” 

Chris laughs at the poor retreating manager. This is his favorite GPF ever. He can’t believe they bested the pole dancing last year. That’s what he gets for spending all his time with highly competitive people. Rapid escalation of every activity. Heavens, what will they all do to top this next year?! He can’t wait to find out.

Phichit and Yuri hug their way to the lobby. The embrace lasts while waiting on an elevator, the pair promising to pay more attention to each other on social media, keep in touch better. Yuri breaks away on the ride upstairs, pulls out his phone, shows the screen to Phichit. 

And clicks the heart below the locker room selfie.

After Phichit’s emotions overtake them all, Chris has no choice but to scoop his boyfriend up like a bride to carry him to his room.

Victor’s on Yuri before the elevator doors close behind their friends.

\-----------------------------------------------------

They collapse into their seats on the plane a few hours later. Victor looks out the window, his eyes are gooey with affection. 

“I'm going to miss Barcelona.”

“Pffft. Not me.” Yuri is too exhausted and raw to spare Victor’s feelings.

”Yuuuuri!” his fiancé whines, “It's like OUR city now. We need to go back for our honeymoon!”

Yuri huffs. He settles himself in with a bundle of jacket, scarf, and blanket. He wants nothing more than sleep at this point. “I feel the good memories and bad are about even.” His head rolls back to look up at the white overhead bins. “I don't know if I want to relive all that fast-paced insanity.” And since Victor is whimpering, he nudges him with a joke, “I still haven't fully recovered from the banquet photos, takara!”

Victor breathes a soft laugh. He wedges an arm behind Yuri’s shoulders, cuddling. He sighs, the encounters with Chris and Phichit were eye-opening for many reasons. He kisses the side of Yuri’s fuzzy skull cap. “It seems like...” voice low and meaningful, “Chris and Phichit are very open with one another in their relationship.” 

Yuri nervous-laughs. He’d thought about this too, during the quiet moments, like the cab ride, watching the buildings and Mediterranean pass away into memory.

“Yeah, I noticed,” he nuzzles Victor’s temple. “It's like they've -achem,” he ducks his chin, coy, after clearing his throat. “I don’t know… _talked_ to each other? I mean, like they were on the same page.” 

“Agreed.” Victor grins at Yuri’s worried eyes. His voice is smooth silver when he admits: “I can't believe our first few blowies and handies,” Yuri snickers at Victor using these words, “didn't give us the power to read each other's minds!”

“Me neither!” Yuri grips his hand, fingers twining. “If not those activities then certainly,” he whispers, “our first time in the shower.” Yuri's head whips around looking for potential eavesdroppers, “would've done it, right?!”

Victor nods, still smirking with a golden gaze.

Yuri’s eyes shift, filling with guilt. “I'm sorry we didn't talk about things after the Cup of China, the way they did.”

Victor quips, “They seem to have done a lot more than talk…”

“I… I couldn’t. I didn’t know you wa-wanted…”

“Shhh, shhh, Dorogoy.” Victor pulls him close, cradles him as best he can and jokes, “We may not beat them in depth, but we win at speed. We went from zero to docking,” not saying it nearly so quietly as Yuri would prefer, “in 72 hours!” 

“Victor,” Yuri deadpans, “we went from zero to engaged in 72 hours!”

His fiancé chuckles. “Well, I don't think we were quite at _'zero'_ before we got here. But those were a busy few days. We had our first fight...”

“Our first sexy medal wager.”

“Definitely not our last one of those!”

Yuri looks more exhausted than ever, but happier. He shuts the window beside them. "I can't wait to get out of Barcelona." 

"We'll be home soon." 

Yuri smiles. "Whose home?"

"Our homes," hugging his shoulders, "Yours, Mine, and Ours."

“You're right,” Eros creeps into his eyes. “And I’ll need to collect my switching debt in one of those places.”

This time Victor looks all around for eavesdroppers.

“What?!” Yuri feigns innocence. “I thought we agreed I need to be more comfortable talking about such things?”

“Very funny.” Victor boops his nose. “We've got to work on time and place.” 

“You think? Twelve hours before the GPF Short Program equals _perfect_ time for relationship-amnesia reveal!”

“How about fifteen hours before a GPF Free Skate, hmm?” Victor prods Yuri’s foot with his own. “Time to fire your fiancé-coach and act like you're doing _him_ a favor!”

They glare at one another, until both their faces break at once and they're laughing so hard they have to hug it out.

By the time they reach cruising altitude, they’re asleep in a pile of plush coverings like big, dumb cuddle bears.


	5. Ego Stroking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's never been bossed around in bed, and never wanted to have sex in his childhood room. 
> 
> Victor's never taken advantage of a fan's hero worship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, all of a sudden I'm writing thousands of words a week! I blame having Nomanono as a collaborator. Keeps me accountable and honest. 
> 
> If you enjoyed my Chris in prior chapters, or my smut in general, I sincerely hope you'll read our new porn: [ After the Reception](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10638684/chapters/23537391) it's smut with a surprise inside! Just the way Noms and I like it. 
> 
> Your feedback gives me wings and I love you so much for reading this. Thank you.

With a final click of the mouse, Victor’s plane tickets to St. Petersburg are purchased. He rolls his head on a stiff neck, listening to the fizzy crackles of tired ligaments, and sighs. They just landed in Hasetsu yesterday. He emails his itinerary to Yuri, whose phone buzzes on the desk next to Victor. Received, then, all done.

He could have purchased these tickets in his own room, but he knew Yuri would stop here first after finishing up in the kitchen and saying goodnight to his family. Victor preferred not to wait on Yuri taking his sweet time to come find him. The Katsukis needed some privacy to buzz about Barcelona. Victor wanted to be alone for this anyway, so he happily left them to their affectionate chatter under the guise of politeness. 

Victor blows a loud breath of fluttering air that makes his lips vibrate and tingle. He leans back in the chair, head craning to look at the ceiling. Satisfied there’s nothing up there to make him feel better, he looks back at the screen and idly tabs to his email, where Yuri’s flight information sits, unopened.

 _Weeks_ , he knows without looking. They’ll be apart for weeks. 

He can't help thinking of Chris and Phichit and how quickly their relationship advanced between the Cup of China and the GPF, also a matter of weeks. It feels like so much wasted time for he and Yuri, right after their own progressive leaps forward. Not that Yuri's gradual transition between China and Barcelona wasn’t sweet for Victor. 

His memories drift to a night of providing chaste and loving comfort for Yuri after they bailed on the banquet in China. While the events in Beijing helped them grow closer, things remained awkward between he and Yuri for the following days, as they didn’t talk about the kiss or any of the drama or ecstasy that preceded it. Instead, they contented each other by filling in those unspoken gaps with more persistent and regular physical affection. Hands were held more often, for longer duration; heads rested on shoulders, hugs were more mutual and frequent. Yuri seemed less uncomfortable around Victor in general, now that they’d had their first fight and first kiss. And it wasn’t their last kiss, either. 

After Rostelecom, Yuri was brave enough one day to peck Victor’s cheek before they exited the rink. Then Victor took up the habit of kissing Yuri goodnight every night. Sometimes soft, closed-lip kisses and some nights deeper, needier, passionate affairs. The way Yuri would clutch Victor in those latter moments was encouraging. And Victor would wait. He’d wait until after Yuri proved to himself and the world that he was worthy of people loving him; most especially, worthy of Victor’s love. 

And now look at them.

Yuri’s learning how to talk about feelings and sex, or trying to learn. Victor was encouraged this morning, on the walk to the rink, when Yuri was the one who brought up their communication issues. 

"Victor,” speaking only to the pavement beneath his feet, “I want to apologize again for not discussing… I mean…" his hands were deep in his pockets, but Victor heard his fists clench in the material, "not telling you how I felt about…" he shrugged and then slumped, "well, anything, really!" 

"Shhhh," Victor stopped them, so he could look at Yuri properly. His fiancé wouldn't meet his eyes, of course. "Never again, detka," fingers at his temple, stroking around the blue leg of Yuri's glasses and following the frame behind his ear. "You've nothing to apologize for.”

“But, Phichit and Chris! They spent their time talking and they seem...” he choked on some thought that didn’t come out right. (Victor loves the face Yuri makes when he needs to reword a sentence midway through.) Yuri settled on: "It seems so much easier for them!"

"It _was_ easier for them." Victor counted the reasons, curling an extended finger on each one, "We had to train and practice together, we had the constraints of a coach-client relationship, our goals for you professionally that we were afraid of screwing up with our feelings and _urges_ ," a classic Nikiforov smirk, "the awkwardness of living together in your family's home, the constant proximity..."

Yuri grabbed Victor's hands to stop him from naming any more excuses. "Okay! When you put it like that..." 

Victor smiled. "Our friends looked forward to webcam chats and cyber sex at the end of their busy days, continents away from one another," he pulled Yuri close. "It’s okay. We had a constant barrage of activities to distract us from having sex or talking about sex." 

"And now?" Yuri sounded perhaps too eager.

Victor decided to tease. "Well, now… we’ve got _even more distractions_!" He released Yuri and took several paces forward, eyes on Ice Castle, as if focused solely on their daily routine. "With my career and yours to work on, we've got more excuses than ever to avoid it!" 

Yuri caught him up, swung him around and dove into his embrace. He nuzzled Victor's chest and sighed, "I think we’ll find a way." Victor held him close and warm.

“We moved at our own pace because we had to,” the coach turned fiancé murmured. “I'm not disappointed with the end result and we have the rest of our lives to make up for lost time." 

Right there on the bridge, in front of Makkachin and the seagulls, Yuri rose on his toes and kissed Victor, deep and slow.

Victor was so happy this morning. All day in practice, really, even as Yakov screamed at them via Skype. They spent the day polishing a routine for Victor's Nationals and live-streaming various adjustments for Yakov's shouting, enraged critique. Not to mention his repetitive demands that Victor get his stupid self to Russia on the VERY NEXT GODDAM plane. Yakov would have to deal, because Victor was confident he could podium at Nationals with only a week of warm-up in Russia with Yakov. He'd spend this weekend with Yuri, dammit. Under the auspices of preparing all his possessions and his dog for the permanent trip back home.

Despite all those would-be stressors, he was thrilled with the new life they began living, _together_ today.

Now, looking at the plane tickets to St. Petersburg in one tab and refusing to open Yuri's email with his own set of tickets, Victor feels they don't have any time at all. They won't for a while. It's too long to be apart so soon after everything that's happened. It's not fair their Nationals are on the same day! He won't even be able to watch Yuri finally stand atop a podium with that gold medal he so deserves!

Yuri's confidence about taking gold at Nationals only makes it worse. 'We have to focus on _your_ routines, Victor. I'm a world-record holder and GPF silver medalist. My Nationals are a victory lap. Yours are a comeback! These last few days of practice together should be about you.'

Victor waited months for Yuri to show such bravado! And while he basked in his lover’s newly minted self-worth earlier today, now it just stings. They got Yuri to this wonderful new head-space together and they can’t even do the 'victory lap' on the same continent?

Victor is dangerously close to pouting himself into a state. He doesn't want to be all weepy when Yuri comes in. Maybe he should have done this in his own room? His mind considers the distractions available to him down the hall. If he retreats there now, perhaps he can prepare himself to pay some late night gambling debts to his protégé? 

Yes, when Yuri comes looking for him, he could be lubed, a toy buried inside, base poking out of the taut stretch, stroking himself. Victor’s flush reaches the tips of his ears and his mouth moistens as he imagines the texture of Yuri's cock gliding over his tongue. He’ll be a carnal vision sprawled on his bed as Yuri slides the door open, tantalizing, too good to resist, and then Yuri will... 

"What are you thinking about, Victor?" The padding of Yuri’s soft silent feet slip into the bedroom and he slides the door closed. Victor yelps. He tries to control his blush by thinking about things that aren’t Yuri’s dick. Not working, especially not with the lightly concealed crotch right next to him, almost at eye level. He swallows.

Yuri teases, standing too close on purpose, because he hates it when Victor shows up in his room unexpected. But he supposes he’ll have to get used to it. They’ll be sharing a bedroom soon enough. His heart prickles and skin shivers at the knowledge of his own future. Maybe that's what Victor was thinking about all flushed and hazy-eyed when Yuri snuck in? He kisses the crown of Victor’s hair and then checks the blinking notification on his phone. “Oh! You’ve got your tickets, then?”

Victor pouts, arousal forgotten, nods his head. He finally clicks on Yuri’s email. “Three weeks? Hmph.” He closes the browser all together, turns away from the desk _and_ Yuri. “I thought you’d be longer.” 

“I don’t know why.” Yuri sits on the bed and flips through more phone stuff. “Our Nationals are the same day. After that, I should only need another week to pack up and move.”

Victor looks around the room and snorts.

“Tuesday?” Yuri smiles, ignoring his lover's disapproval. “You don’t leave until Tuesday?! That’s great! Wait…” the bridge of his nose crinkles under the blue frame of his glasses. “What day is today, even?” he chuckles, hand to his forehead and eyes to the ceiling.

Victor huffs a laugh. “I’m glad it’s not just me. I looked at the calendar three times while buying these damn tickets.”

“Friday. Today is Friday. Okay. Good.” Victor seems distracted, so Yuri takes the moment to check the weather for Monday night. No snow in the forecast and Hasetsu’s in an unusually warm winter, so far, not bad. His plan will work, it seems. When he reengages with Victor, he realizes his fiancé’s eyes are glassy and his lips regained their pout. “Vitya?”

“Three weeks,” Victor sighs. “Why aren’t you as messed up as I am?” 

_Aw!_ “Takara…” he stands, comes up behind Victor. His hands massage those dense shoulders, made narrower by the way his lover slumps down and curls in.

“We just got together, for real,” Victor whines, hair in his eyes, so Yuri can’t see him. “We haven’t even…” he swallows the thoughts of penetrative sex. They’ve made such a big deal out of it, but their schedules are so tight, he’s not sure a quickie to get it out of their systems is even worth asking for. “Now we're to be separated for _weeks_!”

“Not now,” Yuri soothes, gliding Victor’s bangs back with his fingers, “Not yet.”

“Hmph,” leaning his cheek into the caress of Yuri’s hand, “The longest we’ve been apart in eight straight months is 55 hours or so.” He rolls his neck to look up at Yuri. “I’m going to miss the hell out of you in my huge apartment alone with Makkachin.”

“For just three weeks. Then I’ll be there. And we’ll be insanely busy in the meantime, Vicchan, you know that.” Yuri keeps stroking the fingernails of one hand through Victor’s scalp, the other continues to cradle his cheek and chin, thumbing over the bone. 

Victor grins with a hum of approval.

Yuri bends at the waist, over the back of the chair, scooping his own cheek across Victor’s as he dips lower, to kiss exposed collarbone. Victor reaches up and clutches the back of Yuri’s neck, holding him in place. Yuri moans in the restraint of Victor’s strength. He laps eager mouthfuls of a pulse point. 

Victor's grip pulls Yuri up so he can catch his lover's lips, which open hungry for more. His fingers clench and release, kneading the back of Yuri’s neck and soon his own nape is caught in Yuri’s clutch. They kiss like this, sideways, hands pressing each other’s faces closer, mouths deeper, until they both gasp for air. 

Yuri grabs the chair’s arm and spins Victor to face him. He rests one knee on the seat, between Victor’s thighs, raising himself up, above Victor, to kiss down into his mouth once more.

Victor loves it when Yuri takes a height advantage over him. Yuri obviously likes it too. He’s done it several times in the days since the beachside bench in Barcelona. Victor enjoys being taken, overpowered, like this. He thinks he'll love Yuri topping him. He imagines this kiss, reaching up to pull at the fabric around Yuri's sinewy shoulders, combined with the deep wedge of a toy straining inside. But the thrusting, he can’t imagine what Yuri thrusting into him will feel like. He hears Yuri's growl in the shower in Barcelona ‘ _I can't wait to be inside you like this.’_ Even if he ends up not liking it, not wanting it regularly, just the knowledge that Yuri desires to take his body, makes Victor _ache_ to give it to him.

How will they ever find time for that now?! 

Victor decides not to care, he shifts from pulling Yuri down, to pushing them both up. He barely finds his footing before they’re standing, stumbling, teetering next to the edge of the bed. They both try not to break the kiss and fail. Yuri taking off his glasses, Victor whipping his shirt off over his head. Their mouths rejoin and they lean down together, sliding atop the too-small bed with the fluidity of men who’ve choreographed countless dances, moving as one.

Victor grips Yuri’s headboard. The action is part precaution to stop it from hitting the wall, part reminiscent pose of their last night in Barcelona. After Chris and Phichit left the elevator and Victor ravished Yuri’s mouth, they made it into their room, their pushed-together beds, somehow. He hovered above Yuri, just like this, with an ocean of open air between their chests, so they could see one another fully. He used the headboard to pull and push his body, rutting their slick cocks together in long, slow strokes, for what felt like hours. He asked Yuri to finish them docking again. 

Victor’s eyelids flutter shut and his nostrils flare around heavy breaths as he remembers the muscle-rippling, spinal orgasm. Now he drags their clothed erections in the exact slow grind of that night.

Yuri moans and arches up for him, legs locking behind Victor’s thighs. 

Then he opens his eyes. For the first time, Yuri sees the ceiling of his childhood bedroom, from beneath the body of his lover. Somehow, he inhales a lifetime’s worth of memories in this bed. A manic, rapid film of recollection, including repetitive glossy images of Victor’s face. Then he looks directly at his fiancé and can’t help but feel ashamed.

“Can we go to your room, please?” His voice isn’t what he wanted, he sounds so childish about it, but he feels like a naughty teenage pervert at the moment. It’s so embarrassing. Baka. He’s supposed to be talking to his lover about this type of stuff, not clamming up. 

“If you…” Victor grinds as he speaks, “make me… stop… again… Yuri.” He’s threatening, but a scintillating smile tears his cheeks apart. Yuri laughs, looking up at the beautiful contradictory face. 

“I’m sorry!” He chuckles and covers his face with his hands. “I am! I can’t do it in here. I’ve…” his body shakes with a nervous laugh. “I’ve done it too many times before!” 

Victor is taken aback, he rises up and away. “You… brought Grindr guys…?” 

“No!” sitting up too and waving his hands, “NO, nonnonono!” Now Yuri’s skin is a kaleidoscope of crimson hues, clutching his face, shaking his head, chin to his chest. Hiccuping as laughter turns to terror, he stammers, “L-look under the bed. Please?”

Victor's heart hammers with potential unthinkable discoveries. Ever since Barcelona, he doesn’t know what to expect. 

“What am I looking for?” 

“You’ll know.” 

The chilly air tickles down Victor’s bare chest as his bends over, reaching a hand under the bed, rummaging. He doesn’t feel anything but papers. Not regular notebook sheets, though, surely, they’re slick, glossy… oh! He flicks his wrist and a small stack of them scatters out from under the bed into the open, below his watching eyes. 

Yuri’s entire being clenches as he waits. 

“Oh Yuri!” Victor sobs, trying to contain guffaws, his body rocking the bed with it, still sprawled sideways across Yuri’s midsection. Tears actually cling to his lashes when he comes back up to look at his lover, “ _You’ve done it here too many times before?_ Bozhe moi!” Victor chokes and heaves on his suppressed laughter.

Yuri crosses his arms. “It shouldn’t be _that_ funny.” He sits up, hurt pride spurring Eros to spark in his eyes. He grasps Victor’s knees and shakes them. “After all, how many horny teenagers grow up to seduce their pinups, hmm?” Hands trail down from Victor's knees, inside his thighs, fingers teasing to the very edge of his groin without touching the goods. 

Victor gulps, then smiles. “That’s true!” leaning in, lips pecking Yuri’s forehead. “You really are remarkable, detka.” 

Yuri’s chin tilts up, but instead of catching Victor’s lips, he orders: “Put your shirt back on and take me to your room,” before dislodging himself from Victor’s limbs, standing, and rearranging his own clothes. Victor remains seated on the bed. He lifts some of the posters from the floor. 

“I love that you have these,” he whispers, reverently gracing his fingers over them. His eyes squint with affection. Yuri would be touched, if he didn’t so desperately need to be _touched_ right now. He can count the teeth of his zipper through his boxer briefs, feel the roll of a vein constricted by their rough edges. But he doesn't want to continue here. It's too weird. He’s psyched out. He tries to play it off. 

“Wait until you see all of them,” he smirks. The irony of Victor’s half naked body in his bed gets driven home by the poster Victor examines next. A particularly detailed poster, from a questionable angle, Yuri used it more than once to… he clears his throat, drawing Victor’s eyes. “I don’t know what to do with them now. I guess I should sell them?”

Victor hums a laugh. “The triplets have quite an empire of Victuuri merch online. We’ll talk to them.” He stands and retrieves his shirt, eyes still on the posters splayed on the bed and floor. “I’ll autograph the ones you want to sell.” He sounds so remorseful.

Yuri puts on his glasses. He turns his back to Victor, hands on his desk. A chill rolls around his skin, down from his neck to his knee caps. The famous Nikiforov posters in the hands of his Victor, his fiancé. The contrast of Yuri's past and future lives, the man he imagined in those posters, versus the human being _in his bed_ , it's too much. He’s overwhelmed by his own reality. Victor notices and wraps his arms around Yuri’s waist from behind. He noses Yuri’s ear. Yuri exhales. “This is too surreal.”

"Is that why you want to go to my room?" 

Yuri nods but doesn’t turn. He’s trying to calm down. 

“I have an idea, Yuri,” running a smooth hand down his side. “I want to play out one of your fantasies about me.” 

“WHAT?!” He jumps so hard the desk knocks against the wall.

Victor explains using Coach Voice™. “In this room, lying there on that bed, you used to jerk off looking at my picture.”

Yuri’s red face is useless now. There is no proper expression for this.

“Did you ever imagine I was here, with you?”

“Wha… I- I mean… yes, of course I did.” 

“Well, I’m here now.” 

Yuri swallowed. “Yes, Victor, your presence has been noted all these months.” Despite the horror of his coach’s proposal, his dick is still throbbing. Victor takes notice, palming him, fingers just short of gripping.

“And over the course of these months,” Victor presses himself to Yuri’s body, craning over to look at the side of his so-red face. “Were you in here rubbing one out to my posters while I slept just down the hall?” Now, his fingers grip.

Yuri clutches his teeth and turns his face away, choking, unable to respond. His fiancé’s strong arms tighten around his waist in a purposeful hug.

“Dorogoy, lover, future husband,” he soothes, then, like a prayer in his ear, “Yuurri.”

Yuri tenses down to his toes.

"Why don't we finish what you started here, hmm?"

Yuri shudders. He pretends he doesn't understand. "Um... what do you...?" 

"None of that, Yurachka." He steps away and places a foot on the bed, stance wide and inviting. His coach’s voice commands, "Come over here. Lay down. Show me what you did with that last one, the fanservice one, with my crotch shot.” As Yuri obeys, sheepish, he clears the bed and floor first, so posters don't get damaged. He takes the 'fanservice one' in his hands and looks at it, sitting on the bed below the hawkish eyes of his lover. Victor chuckles, “Even though I was an adult and signed a contract, Yakov made them stop printing those, did you know?" 

"Of course," Yuri smirked. "I got one reserved before they even went on sale." 

"Yuri, come on."

"I'm serious!” He looks up with simultaneous pride and shame, eyes only Yuri can make. “I knew a lady who knew a guy!”

"Now you sound like the triplets!" 

Yuri hangs his head, still smiling, giving up. "Please just take me to your room?"

"I will. I promise. As soon as we finish here." Yuri glares up at him and Victor responds with the begging Makkachin face. “Yuri, I really think this will help you feel better about... things.”

Yuri rolls his eyes and groans, but despite his best efforts can't keep the points of his lips from curling upward. “So, what exactly do you want me to do, coach?”

“I told you. Lay down. Show me.” 

Yuri steels his nerves, though he can’t quite control his breathing, and reaches beneath his mattress, fingers wiggling between the soft plush and the hardwood bed frame. He retrieves his trusty bottle of lube. Victor manages only to snort in response, trying to maintain a stern persona.

“Close your eyes.” He orders. 

“Well, that’s not very realistic.” Yuri complains. How can he pretend to jerk off to a poster if he can’t look at it?

“I don’t want you to see me. I’d turn the lights off, but I want to see you.” He huffs and looks around, then turns a lamp on and the main light off. “There.” He sits in the desk chair. “Imagine I’m not here. You’re in the dark, alone, just like back then.”

“Yes, coach.” Yuri grumbles, takes his glasses off again, settles back on his pillows and closes his eyes. He takes a couple breaths. Victor was right, it is easier to pull himself out of his pants and lube up like this, in the imagined darkness and privacy of his teenage bedroom. Victor does his part by being quiet. 

Yuri can see the poster in his mind’s eye. He remembers how it felt, how hard he got looking at it, the way his young heart devoured each suggestive bit of light and shadow. He feels so silly, imagining the glossy two-dimensional bulge and the way it used to make him feel, when not five minutes ago the real thing threatened to burrow its way into his pants. He snickers as he begins to stroke. But he manages to keep the image of younger Yuri and poster-boy Victor in mind. No matter how dumb this is, he can’t deny his dick needed attention and he sighs with relief as his fingers work.

"Did you imagine me talking to you?” Victor’s low, authoritative voice breaks the darkness. 

Yuri licks his lips and nods. 

“What did I say?" 

"You said I did good on the ice today." 

"You were splendid on the ice today." 

Yuri's body trembles. The praise, like that, here, with all the sensations and scents of his youth, with his eyes closed, so familiar, so very like his younger self having this exact fantasy. He thrums and bucks and vibrates, humming in his throat. 

Victor keeps it up. 

"Your form improves every time I watch you."

Watch. He's watching Yuri now. The word itself is doused with implication. They both know it. Yuri's wrist works faster, his hips arching up into the pull and tug of skin. He wants more, so much more. He swirls his thumb over the slit of his head, rubbing it open and closed as his other fingers roll along his shaft. He needs the head stimulation to continue, so he brings his other hand down to help with the base of his shaft and his balls. He groans at the increased contact, the entirety of his genitals being touched, loved on. He imagines his hands are Victor's. The same fantasy from his youth, only now, his brain can draw on the real sensation of those long, supple fingers curling and drumming. His strokes go longer, slower, more like Victor’s, but his hips buck too fast, uncontrolled, pining. 

Victor watches his face. Making sure Yuri's eyes stay clenched shut. But that face. The swell of redness, the full puffy lips, the strain in his temples, the tightness of his cheeks, Victor breathes harried, quick sips of air.

"Damn, Yuri, so beautiful."

He's out of character now. His voice full of love and lust. He's not Russia’s Treasure anymore. Not the playboy in the posters owned by thousands of fans. He is all Yuri Katsuki’s, as if the name were branded on his soul.

And Yuri knows it. His eyes pop open. His mouth moans, lips parting to pant Victor's name on the crescendo of his strokes. When he looks over, the namesake of his pleasure is biting _hard_ on one of his own alabaster knuckles, glaring down accusatory, as though any of this was Yuri’s fault in the first place. Yuri smirks as his eyes flit over his fiancé’s form to find the man's other hand cupping himself over the front of his pants. Well then. 

Yuri braces himself on his shoulders, plants his feet, and arches his spine all the way off the bed, ass clenched tight and high in the air, showing off for Victor as he catches the base of his cock in a firm grip, slowing, stopping, holding off the finish. Eros in all his glory glances over with a flick of his tongue and beckons:

“Come join me, Victor?”

The Russian is up, moving, sliding his pants off, one leg getting caught, and he chuckles while yanking on it, very uncoordinated at the moment, then he’s naked and on top of Yuri. Just like that. Yuri barely had time to kick off his own trousers and he’s still wearing his shirt. He laughs and snuggles up and around Victor’s chest. His fiancé is impatient and messy with it, he tears Yuri’s shirt away. Yuri lubes his hand again and strokes Victor, sliding them together.

"That felt incredible," he admits and begins to thrust. "You were right. I needed that, to..." he swallows, "not be embarrassed... I guess?" He tries to find the right words, laughing softly at himself, as the sliding rhythm of their bodies intensifies. Victor’s not using the headboard this time. They’re pressed together, tight and close, like they were in the shower, but laying like this, it's much more intimate. 

“I didn’t expect,” Victor’s voice is hoarse, “to enjoy watching you so much.” 

They make love in rapid thrusting bursts followed by lingering, trembling grinds of hips clenched tight to one another by flexed glutes and straining pelvic muscles. Victor’s balls, packed taut and swollen with his need to release, press and roll into Yuri’s own sack skin. It’s different than the few times before, because this angle is unique for them. Yuri relishes Victor’s fullness and rolls his hips so his perineum, his entire undercarriage, strokes until Victor’s sack rests on the plump of his cheeks. 

Victor looks up, so close, so desperately close, his body going erratic. “Yuri? Do you want… can I…” he can’t form the question, but he needs permission. He doesn’t move, waits, quivers. 

Yuri realizes what he’s implied with his body. He shakes his head in the negative then, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because they’re still grinding together and both sets of trembles turn to waves even as he denies them from going further. Somehow, they both think to clutch themselves at the end. 

Yuri kisses Victor’s cheek and Victor rolls to the side, though there’s really no room for him to lay flat, and pants at the ceiling. Yuri sits up, begins cleaning his hands with tissues. He tosses the remnants of his pleasure in the small trash can under his desk and offers the box to Victor.

His fiancé comes back from wherever their orgasms took him. "Embarrassed by what, exactly?" He smiles, still cupping himself, fingers lightly peddling, knowing Yuri notices. It’s uncanny the man’s ability to hold onto a conversation, pick it back up again, even in the wake of sex. Yuri rattles his mind to shake out the way he felt before he summoned Victor to bed with him.

"By my otaku self? How much I lusted for you before I even met you?” Yuri stands and stretches. “The uneven nature of this relationship." He glances back at Victor, smirking, and feels so satisfied, soft and affectionate. Victor is a magician. One that can't seem to let go of his wand. 

"What unfairness?" Victor asks idly, watching Yuri move, trying to decide if he should start getting dressed. Oh right, he promised they were going to his room. "You know I lusted after your pole dance, our dance off, everything about you, for half a year before I saw your Stami Vicino video, right?"

Yuri hadn't considered that, no. It makes sense now that Victor's saying it, of course.

"How do you think I sated that lust?" Victor stands, looking for his pants, cock still in his hand.

"Um..." 

The Russian’s smile is so simple, gloating, "I have a couple Katsuki Yuri posters of my own."

Yuri's eyes explode. He looks like a chihuahua. 

"What's wrong?" Victor saunters a hip into Yuri. "I got tired of watching your skating routines. They weren't _intimate_ enough." 

Yuri makes sounds with his lips that definitely aren't words as Victor finishes dressing. Is the room spinning? His head is shaking slightly. The first thought, he almost shouts: 

"WHICH posters?!"

"You'll have to wait three weeks to see for yourself." Victor grins. Yuri was right. They're not apart yet. Not now. In fact, he doesn’t know if they’ve ever felt closer. “Come on,” taking Yuri's hand.

Victor guides his fiancé, his unbelievable lover, out of his past, down the hall, into a fresh new present, onto a much bigger bed, closing their bedroom door behind them. 


	6. Wild Ride Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their love making is life affirming. Everything is new, Victor and Yuri have never had sex like this. 
> 
> They've never talked so much, so openly, shared all their dirty secrets. It's a marathon, a never ending, relationship defining night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still writing thousands of words per week! I can't believe it! Perhaps you saw my [ #Chihoko](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10762548) which burst forth in a six hour stint? Noms and I haven't recovered from what Kubo Sensei did to us all on April 29th. I. Love. This. Fandom. 
> 
> This chapter is 15k words, roughly. But I cut it in half, made it a two-parter, so the whole fic is eight chapters now. That keeps happening! 
> 
> I can't believe how much fun it was to finally get here, though. I've been writing towards this since December. For those of you who read everything, from [ Dance off Revisited](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8845036) to now, I hope it's good for you. And thank you. This fandom and your following have changed my life.

Why does Victor's bed feel different? Yuri's fingers splay in the soft sheets. How many times has he sat here before? Last night, or early this morning, they got in so late, he didn't announce the engagement to his family. They kissed goodnight in the hallway before going to their own rooms like any other night. Now Yuri sits on the edge of _his lover's bed_ , he realizes, and corrects himself, with hurried breath and fluttering heartbeat. Quickened inhales catch the smell, and even taste, of Victor on his skin. 

The heat of their sex still warms his groin. 

Right. He huffs at himself. Why feel anxious like this is some momentous occasion? Yuri fills his lungs with air. A long, slow exhale leaves his body on a wave of shivers that shake his shoulders and loosen his muscles down to his toes. 

Victor stands at the door, he paused after sliding it closed, back to Yuri. He doesn't know what to do. He wants to tackle Yuri, strip him, and fuck him senseless. Victor can't remember the last time he continued to feel so horny this soon after coming. He knows one thing. This feeling, right here, in his chest and his pelvis, this is how all-nighter sex marathons start. His heart hammers out hope that Yuri won't reject him. There’s no reason to stop now. But if a good excuse exists, Victor can trust his fiancé to find it. He hears Yuri's heavy sigh. It sounds contented, rather than worried. He wets his lips and turns. 

From the look in Victor's eye, Yuri knows. This night is far from over. Victor reaches for Yuri's hands and stands him up. For a moment, they’re still, except for fingers peddling together, gazes wandering around one another. Then, as if someone fired a starting shot, they're kissing, clinging, laughing, and nuzzling. The afterglow (which they have time to enjoy for once!) is kindling that sparks as their clothed bodies rub roughly. Yuri pulls his phone out of his pocket before Victor slides his slacks down once more. 

"Still so early," he marvels at the time on the screen. 

“HmmMmm,” Victor nods agreement into Yuri’s bare calf, which he lifts into the air, bending the knee, as if Yuri can't step out of his own pants. He kisses Yuri's thigh and looks up. “And I’m on Spanish time.” 

“Me too. It feels like we should be eating dinner now. But we already have.” 

"After a ten-hour day of training, we somehow have eons of down time, don't we?" 

"In comparison to competition, yeah," Yuri admits, chuckling. "I hate being in go-mode 24/7." 

Victor returns to his feet, smiling. "If you are not on the ice, there's the press." He removes his shirt in a swift display of muscled arms arching overhead. 

Yuri traces one long pit of curving abdominal muscle with a fingernail. "Then schmoozing with sponsors." 

Victor's knuckles dance from Yuri's shirt collar to his ear. "When I'd rather be schmoozing you." 

Yuri groans, but tries to maintain the sexy, pressing his upper thigh into Victor’s crotch.

His lover sighs and hands glide under fabric to mold the perimeter of Yuri’s waist, palpating skin and muscle with sculpting fingers. Victor pulls away just enough for Yuri to make a show of taking off his shirt. Once Yuri is exposed, Victor curls up to him, tucking his hips in and close. He purrs to Yuri’s lips, "Whatever will we do without our structured activities?" 

Yuri closes his eyes and the distance, mouth delicate, yearning, moist, and soft. He loves the feel of their skin contact. The nipples of Russia’s Treasure graze up and down on his inhales and exhales. Yuri’s spent so little time with his bare chest smooth and warm against Victor's! His body is torn between arousal and desire for more of this, simple holding and being held. He shakes his head. Why not both? And smiles in the kiss, pulling away only enough to speak, lips still toying whisper tickles with his words. 

"The real question is," he finally opens his eyes to see Victor’s, "How do we follow _that_?" He gestures back to his own bedroom with a tilt of his head. “Eh, coach? What’s next?" 

“Honestly?” Victor darkens, the air shifts, his embrace sizzling. "I have some ideas."

Yuri likes this tone, braces himself, curls his nails in the fleshy tunnel of Victor’s spine. 

Victor arches against the claws and his words thrust from his throat on a hitch of air.

“I want to pin you down and...” He grips both mounds of Yuri’s ass, pulling him up to his toes, stopping just short of hefting him bodily onto the bed. He can’t think of any better words than the phrase his mind kept pounding like a drum between Yuri’s bedroom and his own, “…fuck you senseless.” 

Yuri feels like he’s falling, his arms clamp around Victor’s upper torso on instinct. Suspended and barely clinging to the floor with wiggling toes, he blinks wide eyes, like a bunny transfixed, up at his lover, once, twice, beneath the blue rims of his glasses. 

Predatory Victor promises, “I will rouse your family from their slumber.” He thrusts and the tips of Yuri’s socks lose contact with the floor, lifting him that final inch, eye to eye. “When I force you to come beneath me.” 

Yuri is panting, swallowing, lips pining to kiss. 

His fiancé smirks and tosses him on the bed. 

Yuri sees the ceiling for a second, then cranes his neck, rises on his forearms to watch Victor removing his pants with one hand, while the other clutches himself. He can never seem to keep a hand away from his junk, Yuri realizes, and may have to exploit that later. For now,

“Keep talking filthy to me.” 

Victor blushes, eyes widening only a moment, before his wicked grin returns. Victor strokes himself once, eyeballing Yuri squirming on his bed, the way he’s always wanted him. “I will make _you_ filthy.” 

The captor prowls over his prone hostage. The way Victor kisses Yuri’s dips and grooves of musculature, the struggling, torturously slow advance of Yuri’s hands, it’s the least-hurried and most-sober they’ve ever been in a bed together. They’re making out like they have all night, because they do. 

“My delicious dorogoy,” pressing naked flesh into stretched black briefs. His tongue licks from nipple all the way to ear, a sloppy trail of saliva laves the skin in his wake, with smacking lips, “you taste like sex feels.” 

Yuri wraps Victor in his limbs, wide fingers roaming and eager thighs pressing. He loves the restraint of Victor’s incessant lust, palpable beneath every inch of flesh. 

“Yuurri,” with a heavy accent, his hips plunge hard, aggressive. “I need to get this one out of my system.” Yuri whines and paws Victor’s back, the way Makkachin scraps a door, trying to get in. Victor appreciates this neediness and rewards Yuri with another thrust, aimed lower, near the real entrance. “It may not be… meaningful… but we have time for that later, right?”

“Yes!” Yuri breathes. 

“Good.” Victor rocks his hips again. “I will make you spasm around my cock.” He promises and grinds his way upright, rolling palms over Yuri’s abs. “I will smear your belly with your own cum, before I finally let go and fill you.”

Yuri's body stops reacting, he clenches up. "R-right. _That,_ " he whispers, turning his face away.

Victor’s brow crinkles. "What is it? I… I assumed you stopped me before… because we were in your childhood bed?” he squints, searching. 

Yuri's eyes pinch when he looks at Victor, then cut to the side.

“Oh.” Shit. This is exactly what Victor was afraid of. He swallows the heat of his desire, or tries to. “That’s not why you said no?” He turns Yuri’s chin with a single finger, examining his features. “Why then?” His voice rasps around unsated lust. “Why didn't you want to?” 

“I wanted to,” seeing Victor’s countenance fall, he hastily amends, “I still want to! I do! I just,” he sighs and deflates, looking uncomfortable, but determined. “We… need to have another conversation before we do that.” 

Victor perks up. “Okay, Yuri. That’s much better than the alternatives I imagined." His smiles, a thin curve of relief, suffusing them both, as it widens his cheeks. Victor's eyes go soft and his head tilts to the side. "I like talking to you, dorogoy.” And he bucks, playfully. “Naked or not. What is it?”

"I want this," Yuri sucks in his cheek, feeling childish, "to be amazing for you, for us." 

"It will be!" His reassurance feels empty to Yuri. Probably because Victor's very pores beam with the confidence of a man who's never failed at anything. Victor sees this hesitance and tries again, with even more enthusiasm. "There's no way it won't be! It's us!"

"See? That right there. That's setting me up for failure!" 

"Yuri?" Victor's eyes are offended, almost hurt. 

Too embarrassed to say what’s really bothering him, why he might not satisfy Victor, Yuri rolls his eyes and sighs. He lifts his chin so he can see the headboard and muses, “All our fanfics and fan art are amazing."

"You never should have gone down that rabbit hole, detka." Victor snickers and crosses his arms, trying to be playful. 

"Because I need admonishment right now," Yuri groans. He knows he's handling this wrong, so he shifts and looks at his fiancé, takes those perfect slender hands in his own. "It's a ton to live up to, isn't it?" 

Victor chortles deep in his chest, squeezing Yuri's fingers, and rubbing his thumbs over the tips of the smallest knuckles. "Impossible is what it is! But, Yurachka, I'm fairly versed in separating porn from reality,” his eyebrows dance. “Based on that display in your bedroom, I'm sure you are too.” Yuri huffs and tries to pull his hands away, but Victor clutches them still, leaning down. “Is there something more specific bothering you?" 

Yes. "It's not just our fandom, or porn, it's… us. _We've_ built this up, takara. I'm... worried about your expectations." There, he said it. He started it.

"Me? But Yuri..."

"I know you haven't been with a lot of guys. But you _just said_ you’re expecting me to… I don't... I don't," he can't bring himself to say it. His mind snags on a workaround. "I thought, maybe Chris came when you topped him,” his nervous eyes and lips quiver, but manage to stay locked on Victor’s. “I don't know why, I mean, he comes all the time, right? He's probably coming right now, wherever he is! Haha, you think?" Dammit. He's rambling. 

Victor can't help but smirk. "Yes, most likely, he is," trying not to laugh. He can tell Yuri's got a point he wants to get to, so he tries to help. "What does Chris have to do with...?" 

"I've never come while bottoming!" Yuri blurts, eyes clenched, head hung, and his skin must hurt to burn so bright. 

There's a short silence in which Victor realizes Yuri was right. Victor _did_ have expectations about topping his lover. And worse, if they tried to talk about this during, or after, the act itself, the emotions might've been disastrous. 

His sweet Yuri is suddenly the best communicator ever! When and how did that happen? Was it simply because Victor asked him to do better and Yuri took direction so incredibly well?

Yuri looks up, fight or flight in his eyes. Victor's lips part, but Yuri places soft fingers on his lover's mouth to stop any outpouring of niceties. "I usually don't even get hard. I'm just not wired that way." 

Victor swallows. Now, he's worried. "But you said you liked switching, are you really more of a top?" What if they're sexually incompatible, despite all the good times they've had?!

"Victor, I _love_ to bottom. I do. It feels like nothing else." And because he's raw, Victor is momentarily jealous of the foreign sensation. Thank goodness Yuri keeps talking. "I just don't come from anal sex. I'm..." he smiles, suddenly shy. "I'm usually too wrapped up in everything else that feels unbelievable about bottoming."

"Oh." Victor's face softens as the tension seeps away. His eyes roam, with so many new questions, trying to decide what to ask first. "I didn't know... I thought everyone- guys, I mean- just…because of prostates...?" 

"It's not so unusual. Anal is intense." 

Victor feels that jealousy pang again, but this time it's laced with anticipation, urgency to try. 

Yuri looks down at his hands. "I guess, for me, when someone is inside me, I feel a d-different arousal,” he swallows, “N-not the kind that makes me come."

Victor is stunned. He didn't expect this and he has so little experience with the subject matter, there's nothing he can come up with to say. His gaze goes unfocused in the sheets over Yuri's shoulder. 

Yuri smirks. "So." He licks his upper lip and slides his body along his lover’s. "This is how I shut you up?"

That got Victor's attention. 

Flirtatious eyes, full of promise, look down. "You have far better options," one hand traces his dark hairline, "if you want to gag me." He cups between Yuri’s legs, preamble forgotten. 

Eager hips pump into that palm. 

"Good point." Yuri rises on his elbows to kiss Victor slow; a kiss that acknowledges the hours to come for greater heat, deeper intensity. 

One of Victor's hands wraps around to press between Yuri's shoulder blades, the other rolls gentle circles in the dampness on the front of his fiancé’s underwear. "When I," he wets his lips to taste Yuri after their mouths part. "What do I...?" Victor really is tongue tied. He can't believe Yuri's floored him yet again. It's maddening fun to be surprised like this over and over. "How should I do it for you, then?" 

Yuri's arms, temptuous and slow, lace their way up Victor's ribs and around his upper back to cling to his shoulders. "Like you usually do,” so simple it sounds like a tease. He smiles, knowing eyes dancing. The familiarity of that one line hits them both like a suck of skin, tightening everything up at once. Yuri grins at the reaction he’s caused and continues as though nothing different or unique is going on. “I usually come like a fiend not long after anal. Sometimes I stiffen up right away, like the other pleasure receptors are done and now it's my dick's turn." He laughs and Victor laughs with him. 

“Sounds fairly simple.” 

“Oh yeah?” Yuri licks his lips and juts his chin up to taunt, “Show me.”

It’s a bad impersonation. “Excuse me?” 

With a heavier fake Russian accent, “I told you. Lay down. Show me.” 

“Ohhh, Yurachka. Tsk, tsk.” He bends over to bite the elastic of Yuri’s briefs, pulling as far away as he can, then opens his teeth and the band _snaps_ back in place. His protégé’s body makes a lovely jolt. “I will make you regret mocking your coach.” 

Yuri, unfazed, removes his glasses and hands them to Victor. “Put these somewhere safe, will you?” 

Victor shakes his head, sucking in a cheek at the audacity of this young man. But does as he’s told, crawling to place the glasses on the end table. 

Yuri lifts his hips to remove his briefs while Victor is distracted. Gripping himself at last, he marvels at the density of his package. Feels like he hasn’t come in weeks! Is this what it's going to be like for the rest of his life? When Victor rolls back to meet him, eyes drawn immediately to his member and lightly squeezing hand, Yuri smiles and admits: 

“I want to come with you inside me.” He strokes a few pumps for Victor’s dazzled gape. “And maybe I will. But it's possible I'm just not wired that way." He can’t help feeling powerful. Victor isn't even paying attention, eyes tracing his body, tongue playing over his bottom row of teeth, stroking the inside of his lower lip. Victor’s fingertips reach out to glide fervent down Yuri’s leg and back up to his hip, watching Yuri's body respond with worshipful eyes. Yuri tilts his loving smile to the side, amused. 

Victor’s eyes go dark again. His fingernails tease Yuri’s abdomen up until they swirl the minute little bumps around one of Yuri's nipples. “Tell me, Yurachka, why might it be different with me, hmm?”

"Everything is different with you,” Yuri shivers at the stimulation, “But I imagine it will be special, b-because… you’ll look at me during.”

Victor blinks a few times, then glances up at Yuri’s face. “You always did it…?” 

“Never bottomed face to face.” Yuri confirms and his gaze goes unfocused, inner eye far away in the memory of the younger man he was. “So, this will be entirely different, with you, Victor, in every way.” He sighs, dreamy, and flops onto the bed, eyes on the ceiling.

Victor places his whole hand on Yuri’s chest, thumb circling. His lover is still in the past, his face seems to concentrate on faraway people and places. Victor's just about to say something to pull him back when Yuri's eyes dazzle and his cheeks curve into a secret smile, he coughs out a laugh.

His face shoots up to Victor, back in the moment, realizing where he is, who he's with, and he blushes.

"What was that?" Victor's thumb punctuates his question into Yuri’s dense little pectoral, "hmmmm?"

Yuri can't contain a goofy grin, though he's clearly trying. "N-nothing!" He leans up for a kiss and Victor dodges, sitting up fully. 

"Ah ah ah. Who are you smiling about?” Victor squints, accusatory, but playful. “That smirk of yours isn't for me!"

"Victor!" Yuri sits up too, spine straightening, caught and afraid, shoulders square.

"Yuu-ri!" Enunciating, and arching a brow, "after all that, you _giggle_ and," he pokes a finger to divot Yuri's flushed cheek, "make _that face_ right there!"

His protégé’s fists clench and release in his lap. "I j-just didn't... I don't know... it's stupid. My hookups."

"You called me on my Giacometti smile! And I was honest about that. This is only fair! Who are you thinking of?"

Yuri pulls his knees up and rests his forearms atop them. It would be adorable, except he knows he’s naked and keeps his feet deliberately apart to display the base of his cock and bulge of his balls. When he sees Victor noticing, he feels comfortable enough to speak. 

"In Detroit, I regularly saw a guy I met on Grindr for a while. We even played video games together. I mean, we gamed almost as much as we had sex, by the end of it." 

Victor pulls his eyes up from the luscious view of lower privates. "Why did it end?" 

"Because of this, what we're talking about now. He only wanted to be topped. And I'd ask him to top me, but my soft dick turned him off, and he'd only top me from behind, when he did."

“My poor detka!” 

"It wasn't just him and the sex stuff,” Yuri smirks, shaking his head. “Phichit called him my boyfriend. I didn’t want that. I was too afraid of those implications or the responsibilities or something.” He shrugs, circling hands and fingers atop his kneecaps, in a nervous dance. “I told myself I was really just there for sex. I refused to say we were dating. I justified it by never going out with him. Only meeting at his place. Only sex or video games. I think he got tired of that, too." 

"I know I would have." 

"You wouldn't let me compartmentalize you that way.” Yuri laughs a sweet, appreciative sound. “No matter how hard I tried!" 

"Coach Victor and Crush Victor, yes, I remember." 

"But you eased your way through every barrier."

His fiancé puffs with pride. “I broke one or two down by force.” His teasing fingers on Yuri's thigh and chest tighten into a firm hold, pulling Yuri against the rumbled resistance of the comforter, which bunches up between them. 

“You did.” Yuri reaches to brush his hand up Victor’s cheek, under fringe that shines golden in this low light, until his fingers comb the bangs up and back. Victor leans softly into it, like he always does, smiling and lids falling closed. If he was a cat he’d purr for more of these gentle pets. 

Yuri tilts forward, kisses his lover, hand in his silver hair. 

Victor wraps him in his arms, tight and close, and so very loved. 

Their tongues feel plump and full when they slide together, tasting and teasing. Victor pulls away first, eyes sparkling. 

“Speaking of breaking barriers,” one long finger glides down Yuri’s spine, dips between his cheeks, poking its way toward the sweet spot. 

Yuri smirks, looking around. “Where do you stash your lube?”

“Same place as you,” and Victor retrieves a bottle from between the mattress and the bed frame. “Can’t argue with a classic.”

Chuckling, Yuri flops upon the soft sheets, face up and watching Victor, one hand still touches him, fingers skating a pirouette along a pearly upper thigh, down to his bent knee, trying to tickle. Victor pops the cap and Yuri can’t stop himself from bouncing the whole bed, with an eager press of his feet, pumping his ass up. Victor looks positively smitten by this show of uncontrollable cuteness. Yuri makes it worse with a wink. Then, as Victor comes around to position himself, Yuri wiggles his butt in excited greeting, laughter still bright in his eyes. 

And it might be too much for Nikiforov, truly. But he soldiers on, somehow. 

Victor rolls the flat, firm pad of his lubed index finger around his lover’s muscly little door. He attempts to gain tactile familiarity with every miniscule crease and crinkle, build trust between his fingertip and each pinpoint of the starburst. The flesh purses in and out, clinging and releasing Victor’s touch in turn. 

Gooseflesh stipples from the spot between Yuri’s cheeks to alert every tiny hair down to his ankles. His body is spread wide and ready for this man, this dream-come-true, who is ever-so-slowly, gently, going to pierce him, his own fantasy made flesh. 

Yuri’s shoulders shrug up to his ears, and he tries to duck his silly face into one of them. This sudden sheepishness must be due to Victor's sharp, lustful eyes watching as he prepares Yuri’s body to make love, wide awake and sober, far away from the adrenaline of competition. There are no other stimuli involved, no chemicals breaking through his inhibitions. Nothing to dull his senses, either, and it’s just the two of them with the long hours until morning. Yuri can feel prickles of anxiety chase the realization. He knows he must say something, before head-bully takes over. 

“This is so different, isn’t it?” He nervous-laughs a few syllables of not-quite-words. “I-I mean from the times before?”

Victor’s eyebrows rise and his finger stalls. “Yes. It is.” His other hand curls the semi-circle of Yuri’s hip, lifting, coaxing. When he feels a touch of resistance, he looks directly at Yuri and soothes, “I feel it too, detka. It’s not just you.” His finger begins to push. “This is different, but so much better, da?” And he slips inside. 

“Hai!” Yuri whispers, arching his spine, which changes the angle of his ass and almost drops that blessed finger right out. But Victor’s reflexes are quick, he pushes up, and feels the second, denser, internal muscle, struggling to resist his invasion. 

Yuri makes an “nnnn” sounds in his throat, behind clenched teeth, and exhales a loud raspy breath through his nose. 

“Ok?” Victor rasps. It seems so weird. His mind flashes the brief slide show of his fingers inside Yuri before: shower stall, drunk in bed, boardwalk. Why should it feel like the first time now? He swallows to wet his throat and repeats, “You okay, Yuri?” 

Yuri lowers his spine back to the bed and nods. Then he cants his hips for Victor’s access. When he finds his fiancé’s eyes again, Yuri flexes the anal muscles he can control. He watches the coach gasp when his finger is sucked and kissed inside. Eros burns at the sight of Victor’s pleasure. 

“More, Vitya…” Yuri breathes. “More, please?” 

Victor expands Yuri with two fingers, his middle and index, rolling the knuckles in waves, just the way he knows Yuri likes. 

Yuri writhes, every gesture contorting his body, eyes sealed shut, so he floats in a dark sea of sensitivity. Victor has to hold him still to maintain any sort of rhythm. 

“Keep up with me,” Yuri teases on a bark for air. 

Victor takes up the challenge, responding to Yuri’s reflexive movements, chasing his enjoyment, never letting him come down. Victor notices Yuri’s cock deflating the harder he works him inside. It seems so counterintuitive, but he’s glad he knew what to expect. He smiles, hoping to reward Yuri’s newfound communication skills. 

Though he wants to, Yuri can’t seem to stop thinking tonight. The dive and pull of those fingers sends his mind into overdrive. He’s been talking too much. Maybe he keeps talking because they’re sober, or because of the “extra” time? His eyes open and he watches Victor’s expression sail between concentrated and languid, as he works and widens, stimulation crawling up Yuri’s spine from his tailbone. As usual, his cock’s gone soft. But Victor understands everything he’s said so far, seems to accept all of him, without question or complaint. 

“Uunnn,” Yuri groans relief, feeling so safe and sanctioned by his lover is euphoric. His moans crescendo as Victor explores the nubs and cruxes of his cavity, like the man intends to print a 3D model after they’re done. Yuri’s mind immediately conjures a sex toy called a flesh-light and the fact that these channels of rubbery silicone can be custom-made to simulate a person’s insides. 

Dammit! He has to say something. His stupid head won’t shut up. And it’s about to happen. They’re so close. When was the last time he had sex before Victor? It’s been a while, but he doesn’t want to say as much, so instead he asks:

“H-how long has, um, …has it been for you?”

Victor pauses to consider, looking to the side as if counting back in his head. Then his face goes all heart-shaped. “About 20 minutes or so?” 

His triceps receive a fit of tiny playful slaps as Yuri tries to scoot away. “You dick! You know what I meant!” In the skirmish that follows, they become dislodged. 

Victor turns mopey. “I did.” He bends low to bury his brow in knotty, unyielding abs, under the arch of Yuri’s ribcage. Yuri can’t fully see his face from this angle, unless he sits up, and Victor won't let him, hugging around his middle. 

“Victor? What is it?” 

His lover huffs into his belly meat and Yuri feels a tickle, but clenches against it and continues, “Have you…did you have someone recently? Since you’ve been here in Japan?” Yuri doesn’t want to say this, but it’s his first thought given Victor’s pouty reaction. 

Victor shoots up with wide, disbelieving eyes. “No!!!” his cry is scandalized, as if Yuri accused him of cheating, when they weren’t even technically together all that time. Victor’s face purses into childish indignation, teeth clenched, lips curled so tight, Yuri can barely see them anymore. It's so effing cute. Until Victor whines, “I didn’t do anything LIKE THAT! I’m not THAT BAD of a person!” 

“I don’t think you’re any amount of bad person.” Yuri pets his hair and cheek. “Even if you had… done something with someone… while we were here together.” Victor squints and sulks and Yuri sighs, “I’m happy it wasn’t that recent. I am! So, if not that… why won’t you tell me?” 

“I’m ashamed of my last time.” He pouts, all nasal, ducking his head and averting his eyes. Yuri doesn’t think shame bothers his fiancé. More like Victor’s mimicking how normal people act when they feel the emotion of shame. The thought makes Yuri want to take some revenge. 

“No sir!” Yuri swats the outside of Victor’s thigh. “Nuh-uh! No hypocrisy!” He swats again. 

Victor blushes when he looks up and Yuri files _spanking kink_ away for later, because he knows Victor is only trying to distract him now. The Men’s Free Skate world record holder will not be swayed. 

“You made me masturbate like a teenager in front of you! After _that_ , you better be able to tell me what you’re so ashamed of!” 

“My last time…” Victor deflates, “…with someone that wasn’t you…” he emphasizes, because the twenty-minutes-ago fact is actually worth emphasizing, dammit, “was after the Sochi banquet last year.” 

Yuri goes bug eyed. “Really?! After you and I…”

Victor hangs his head, flumps back down to hide his face in Yuri’s body once more, and huffs like an admonished toddler. 

“Yes.” He admits after a pause. “After Celestino dragged you upstairs.” He shakes his head, hair tickling delicate hollows of skin at Yuri's hip bones. He looks up with pleading eyes, shuts them just as quickly, and his excuses flow out in a rush. “It didn’t mean anything to me. I just needed… wanted… I regretted it the next day. In the moment, I substituted… whatever his name was, who clumsily propositioned me… for you.”

Victor swallows before opening his eyes to see his fiancé’s reaction. 

Yuri shines affection upon his lover, a sunbeam through a window, soft and warm and steadfast. Victor could curl up in the heat like Makkachin on the floor, perfectly fitting into the shape of this light to sleep away an afternoon in comfort. He loves Yuri so much he almost says it aloud. 

“Your last time was about as bad as mine,” Yuri confesses. “After my Nationals, I turned to Grindr for a while to wallow and self-medicate. You say you were substituting your guy for me… I guess I was doing the same, without really thinking about it in those terms.” 

“We’re so much alike,” Victor muses and kisses Yuri’s hip bone. After a pause, the coach rolls off of his student, and breathes face down in the sheets. Then the bed starts to jiggle as Victor laughs, curling in on himself. 

“What?” Yuri kicks the balled-up comforter playfully at him, half-covering his naked backside. 

Victor shoots his head up and there are tears of amusement sliding along his bright pink nose. “We’re really bad at foreplay banter, Yuri!” 

Yep. He's so right. Yuri goes red-faced, but has to laugh at himself. 

“You know the worst part? I wanted to _to ease_ the tension.” He hiccups and snorts. “I should have known better than to bring up past partners. But you've asked so many times before...” 

“Time and place, detka!" Victor sits up, crosses his arms, and sticks out another devastating pout. "I _tried_ to keep things focused on us!” 

“You did! You did.” Yuri waves his hands, fingers fanned wide in surrender. His periphery catches how flaccid Victor has fallen. "I… I brought us down! I'm sorry! I’ll make it up to you!" 

Victor follows Yuri's eyeline and moans at the state of his untouched, forgotten manhood. "That's right!" Spreading his legs and gesturing toward the softness, "You did this to me, Katsuki Yuri! You must take responsibility for your actions!" 

"Oh god," he groans, stretching out on the bed and lowering himself to his forearms, "Have you been looking at our MPreg tag?" 

"M-what?" 

"Oh! Ahem. N-nevermind. Let's see if I can fix this..." and Yuri fills his mouth with cock to avoid that topic. His lips reach Victor’s pelvis, and he rolls his tongue around the pliable, soft tube of flesh that coils in his mouth all weird and sideways. He’s never had to get Victor hard before. Victor’s always been at full mast by the time Yuri swallows him. Yuri likes the challenge, likes the feel of Victor’s folds of foreskin clutching tightly to the prize inside and the soft pressure of that prize swelling slowly to come out and meet him. He suckles and licks like he’s coaxing the shy head to not be afraid of his nearby teeth. 

When he’s hard and throbbing again, Victor tugs Yuri’s shoulders up. Yuri clomps on and sucks, not wanting to be pulled away from his treat. The Russian chuckles, “Yuri, where were we?” He pets Yuri’s hair. “You feel amazing, but I do not want to come this way.” As he strong-arms his lover off his dick, Yuri pulls a stretch of foreskin up until it pops softly back in place, similar to the elastic band earlier, though not as loud. Yuri is delighted with the effect, the way Victor’s body jars. 

He looks up at his Victor, and Yuri kisses him, a hot stamp of wet lips with no request for entry. 

Finally, Victor has him pinned and grinding around his two fingers once again, much faster now. He's used an excessive amount of lube this time and the squelching sound is so sinful it’s maddening.

Yuri’s heart races, this feels somewhere between the greatest joy he’s ever felt, the most exhaustion, and a panic attack, all at once! His mind doesn’t like it. But his body isn’t listening to head-bully anymore tonight.

Victor can read him, though. He strokes Yuri’s chest and shoulders with his free hand. “You’re so beautiful, detka.”

“So are you, takara.” 

Victor smiles his devotion and with a final pump of farewell, removes his fingers.

Yuri thinks of something else he wants to say. 

But a request shines in Victor’s eyes and Yuri nods the go ahead, he’s aching for the real thing. 

_’Time and Place, Yuri.’_ the coach’s voice chides in his mind. 

Victor begins lining up, looking down, adjusting. 

Now is the time and place.

"Victor, wait...!" 

A dead stare. “You think I can live down _another_ rejection?” Victor’s voice is pained, and it's not funny. But Yuri smiles anyway. 

"You'll like this reason, I promise," he rolls his hips for emphasis and Victor tries to control himself, looking like a man exasperated beyond reason. Yuri manages not to snicker at his consternation. "We haven't said... I mean... everything that's happened... it's been so fast... We’ve never actually said it. We should right? Before we do this?” 

"Oh." Victor sees the love swirling in Yuri’s expression, he's seen it all day, felt it in every breath, and in the pulse of Yuri's blood flowing, throbbing beneath him now. Their love is everywhere, unspoken. He hasn't even missed the words. But, then again, he almost says them, so often. "I… I was waiting…”

“For me to say it first? I’m sorry.” Yuri's hands rove to sooth the tense muscles of Victor's arms, up to his shoulders, then neck, and down the blades of his back. 

“No," Victor relaxes, settling lower, closer, their abs breathing together. "For you to be okay with us... saying it. I didn’t want to freak you out.” 

“Right. I get it." Their irises meet and stare, long enough for sight to go wobbly and unfocused. Yuri hugs Victor, a hand cupping the silver crown, drawing him all the way down, heartbeats flush. Victor's arms flex, hardening the embrace, expelling a puff of air from Yuri's lungs. He swallows and nuzzles his temple to Victor's cheek. "On a count of three, then?”

“Sure." Victor pushes himself up, just enough to see Yuri's face again. "English?” 

Yuri smiles. “Yes, please. I’m not comfortable saying it in Japanese.” And he noses the smooth jut of Victor's chin. “Yet. But soon.” 

Victor nods, feeling the same about his mother tongue. 

They count off, whispering, and smiling silly, boyish grins at one another, then in unison: 

“I love you.” 

They watch one another's faces.

Both break into breathy chuckles, giddy with relief. Neither realizing, until this moment, how badly they wanted to hear the words and say them. 

Their naked bodies quake and genitals jostle with it, pressed together, reminding them of the task at hand. But for some reason, the immediacy of their sex adds fizz to love's elation. They feel tiny bubbles of joy rolling between them, popping on one another's skin, shared tickles and tingles that only increase the effervescent high. 

Victor recovers first. “I love you, Yuri Katsuki.” 

Yuri buries his face in the crook of Victor’s neck, kisses his words in whispers, “I love you, too, Victor Nikiforov.” At his fiancé’s nudging, he looks up. 

Victor’s eyes sparkle. “Fine. You were right. I liked that reason to stop,” he pecks Yuri’s lips. And husky, he promises: “You may keep me from entering you, anytime you want, to tell me you love me, okay?”

Yuri nods enthusiastically and bucks. “Now, we’re ready.” There’s nothing left to say. 

Victor moves, right there, and Yuri opens everything he can to meet him, helping his body unfold toward the press of his lover. Victor's head slips inside with ease. And they stop, because the tremor of connection rushes over them both. 

Yuri wets his lips and smiles, a tight curve of emotion. He bares down, inviting Victor deeper.

Victor nods, eyes soft and ebbing, trying not to blink as he moves forward. Yuri was so ready for this, he realizes, as his lover's body drinks him in, perhaps readier than Victor felt.

He sheaths to the hilt and holds there, gasping air into an unwelcoming, parched mouth and throat. 

Yuri’s thighs clamp Victor’s hips. 

They stare into and past one another, seeing so much, while looking precisely nowhere. They both need to scrunch their eyes shut when an involuntary pulse of Victor’s veins and Yuri’s muscles, deep inside their joining, sends a jolt between them. 

Yuri’s chin tilts up and away, breathing heavy and raspy. 

Victor gasps for air too. This is more than sleep deprivation, emotional rawness, or physical exhaustion, this is more... his thoughts spill forward... 

"I always heard it was different with someone you love." 

"M-me too," Yuri shudders and feels Victor twitch a response inside. 

Victor coughs, not quite a laugh or a sob and whispers, "I never believed it." 

"Me neither, but-but, _god Victor,_ I can feel you everywhere!" Yuri can’t describe it, but he feels a second transcendent skin pulses in the ether an inch above his real flesh, which buzzes with a current of its own. He feels the hum of the same charge flowing through Victor; it arcs into Yuri's spine and follows his nerves all around. The amperage streams between them on an endless loop. 

Victor's eyes clench as if trying to hold it all in or regain some kind of control. Then, as if by their own accord, his hips roll back and thrust in again, a quick, gentle rock that forces both sets of eyelids open. Staring into one another, Victor sighs, 

"Yuri. You fe-feel so..." 

"Y-you too-oo," Yuri's breath is shaky and his throat scratches. His heart is clenching and his damn eyes sting. He doesn’t want to cry. He expected it to feel different and new, not just the normal joys and pains of sex. But... 

"What the heck is this?" Yuri laughs, nervous, frustrated with his impending tears and his inability to process what's happening. 

"You too, huh?" Victor smiles around a cough. 

Yuri’s nails dig into the back of Victor's ribcage. Even as his brain refuses to accept what he's feeling, his body knows what it wants and arches into Victor, pulling him deeper. _How can we do more than this?_ His mind screams. Victor must have heard. 

"I don’t know," he sighs. "And I don’t know what to do. Just kiss me, Yuri."

They kiss and tremble inside with the tempo of their tongues. 

They're able to grind slowly in the kiss, make sense of their strange new connection by quelling the uniqueness of joining with the familiarity of one another's mouths. 

When they part, hips still rolling together, Victor's chin drops to his chest and his forehead rocks side to side in the tendon of Yuri's shoulder.

“I love you, so much, Yuri Katsuki,” he whispers through clenched teeth.

And the stutter in Victor's voice confirms it. Yuri knows they shouldn’t have sex like this right now.

“I love you too. So much.” He whispers into Victor’s hair. Then Yuri’s head falls heavy back into the pillow. Yuri shivers, his eyes stare, wide and blurry, at the ceiling. “Victor.” He pushes on Victor’s shoulders. “I don't want to do it like this.”

Victor's hips freeze, he sits up, eyes narrow with hurt and concern.

“Right now, I want you to... what did you say earlier? Fuck me senseless?”

Victor smiles, "But I'm ready to make love to you,” he rocks out slow and labors back inside, breath hitching, “like this, like you talked about, your first time face to face." 

“Guh,” Yuri exhales after another thrust. “You, like this,” his eyes pierce into Victor’s, “it’s amazing, it is, but…” he shakes his head. "I can't stand it anymore, Vitya! All of this tonight- is too emotionally exhausting!” He clenches Victor inside. “I need you to just fuck me, please?" 

“Yuri, I…” Victor trembles, trying so hard to do what he thinks is the right thing, but overcome by Yuri’s vulgarity and the urgency of his throbbing body. _“I don't want to ruin this.”_

“You know what will ruin it? Us crying the whole time!” Yuri laughs and bucks. “I know we’re going to. I don’t think we can avoid it. But not right now.” His eyes go dark and needful. “Victor,” he pitches his hips back and forth like he’s on a rowing machine, pulling Victor in and out, loving the gasps and groans of Russia’s Treasure. Then he stops. “Like you said, we have the rest of our lives for love making and meaningful sex." 

"I didn't say it like that...!" 

Yuri’s mind snatches on the wording. "We need to get this out of our systems!"

Victor closes his eyes, considering. And he holds Yuri’s hips, pressing him into the mattress, forcing him to be still. He snorts and admits: 

“Earlier, I was trying to decide if I could even ask for a quickie.” Eyes still closed, voice strained, “that’s what I was thinking of when you found me in your bedroom.” 

“Oh yeah?” Yuri’s unfettered hands move to clutch Victor’s quivering ass cheeks. “Just a quickie? You seemed pretty embarrassed.” 

Victor's lips pucker, cheeks go puffy. “Fine!” He thrusts, annoyed, hard enough to make Yuri moan. "I imagined you topping me." He pants, releasing Yuri, and dropping down to his forearms. Yuri kisses him, quick and pleading, then whimpers. 

“Sounds like we both need a good,” free again, he oscillates beneath his lover, “deep dicking.” Yuri purrs in his throat. "Let me turn around, Victor?" 

"Hmm?"

“Please?” He wiggles his hips. “Please, give us what we both need. Turn me over and take me..." he grits his teeth, eyes flashing and growling, "Coach!” He feels the reactionary tug of Victor’s cock and smirks. “Take me coach. Now. Show me what you've got." 

Every last shred of hopeless romantic Victor frays away to dust, because no matter how much the heart might want to make love, the body is beyond ready to fuck.


	7. Wild Ride Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor's never had to wrangle control from a bottom, taking the power back so aggressively and fully.  
> Yuri's never cared so little about his sex noises, doesn't give a damn, even if his family hears them!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You want Top Victor? It is time.  
> Also, this one's a roller coaster. You might need tissues for BOTH reasons. Maybe.
> 
> I'm writing so much you guys! Thanks to Nomanono.  
> Check out the sexy new sequel to our Chris+Victuuri threesome fic:  
> [ After the Rejection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11016084/chapters/24547119) the next chapter of this Alpine snow-bunny romp will post this weekend for sure! 
> 
> The final chapter of New Sensations is a labor of love, probably another couple weeks. I will miss this when it's over. Thank you so very much for reading, I hope it's been fun for you so far! Let me know how you like this one! And Thank You so much.

Victor lost his cool during the posters incident and now he can’t regain a single shred. Yuri somehow siphons all the coach’s authority, even when Victor’s inside him! _Every time,_ he realizes. He has surrendered in this and every other sexual encounter between them. _Well, that’s enough of that._

Victor glowers down, brow dropping and teeth bared by lips that snarl into a one-sided smile.

Yuri bucks up in approval of the countenance change. That hunger and malice is exactly what he wanted to see. He feels Victor plump inside with a throb that meets the roll of his hips. _Give us what we both need… show me what you’ve got_ the words might be branded on his flesh for Victor’s scrutiny of his torso. Yuri licks his lips and grinds in earnest. Pressing his feet flat into the sheets beside Victor’s calves, he lifts his ass high in the air, as high as he can, pulling himself up, almost off, Victor entirely. Then, unfurling his abs in a wave, he spears himself down into Victor’s lap once more, forcing a long stuttered “H-h-ha-ha-hai!” from his lungs as though Victor’s dick is jabbing under his diaphragm. 

Victor, controlling his features during this brazen display, cocks an eyebrow. 

“Are you done showing off?” 

Yuri’s chin juts up, challenging on a pant of air: “Not if you don’t turn me over.” And he flexes his glutes around Victor, tugging him, and follows with another impatient buck of his hips. 

Victor makes one last grind into Yuri, staring right at him in acceptance of his challenge, eyes hard and maybe even angry. After pulling out, none-too-gently, he grips Yuri's waist in two firm hands. 

Yuri raises himself a little, thighs twisting, as though to roll over. Then Victor chuckles. His accent is heavier when he growls, 

“You think I need flip you to fuck proper?” 

Yuri didn’t quite hear the question, because the delicious roll of those ‘r’s sends his body clenching and eyes blinking. 

Victor shakes his head, mocking sympathy. “Tsk. Tsk.” 

Victor settles on his knees and lifts Yuri’s hips. When his lover instinctively tries to sit up to meet him, the Russian presses one hand flat on the center of Yuri’s chest. Victor feels resistance, and flexes, easily holding Yuri down. The surprise and perplexity on his lover's face is too delicious and Victor pushes harder on Yuri's chest as he centers himself and jabs back inside. He watches brown eyes roll away and then close, brow tightening. He thrusts again, delighted by that skinny throat as it gulps and struggles. 

Still seated deep inside Yuri, he lifts one of his lover’s legs from the bed, higher and higher, until he's planted Yuri's calf comfortably atop his shoulder. Yuri whimpers as the angle of Victor’s cock dives toward his tailbone. Smirking at his prone prize, Victor jostles himself inside, a quick wiggle of his pelvis, knowing Yuri's hot little prostate must be close by. He explores, the gentlest of circular movements, his cock head mapping the depths. Victor's eyes sparkle when tremors ricochet through his lover, but he cants himself away from the spot, now he's found it. 

Yuri's eyes pop open. His fiancé grins, proud and authoritative, as he ever-so-slowly lifts Yuri’s other leg. 

“I am assuming,” Victor begins, and Yuri can’t handle how thick that Russian “eeng” came out. He wants to suck on that accent like a cheap hard candy, until it dissolves into gibberish in his mouth. “If you always take from behind, you never had it like this before?”

Yuri shakes his head back and forth, trying to breathe through his nostrils, as every puff of air that escapes his mouth rides on a high-pitched sound he'd rather not make. 

Now that Yuri's lower half is firmly flush with Victor's torso, the dip where calves become ankles seated on each of the Russian's shoulders, Victor tries a single piston of a thrust, out and in. He relishes the quiver of Yuri's legs, the knees that try to knock together, but can't reach. Victor retracts, smooth and controlled, schooling his features for Yuri's wide eyes. Wearing his judgmental coach face, he watches Yuri's expression fall to pieces on his thrusts. 

And Yuri's hands leave his pillow to fist in his own hair, claw his own scalp. Desperation looks good on him. His lips are tucked in tight, suppressing cries of pleasure that Victor can see inflating Yuri's chest, sailing up his windpipe, only to be snuffed out against the wall of clenched teeth. Every breath sounds like begging for more. 

More he receives. His fiancé pounds into him, at last. Exactly what Yuri knew they both needed. When he looks up, he sees the stern coach countenance shift softly to determined, intense satisfaction. Yuri relaxes into that beautiful face above him, his body going more pliable and loose, letting go. 

Victor feels comfort settle into Yuri's muscles and picks up his pace. Normally, this position might get to his knees after a while, but the mattress is so very forgiving, almost cradling his kneecaps on every thrust. He uses the springy bounces to roll into and out of Yuri with minimal effort. He loves the smack of Yuri's hard-toned ass cheeks on his upper thighs; loves the burn of his muscles, working so hard. His hands grab Yuri’s knees for added traction and to hold him _still._

Yuri is a quick study, after all, both on and off the ice. He’s already starting to power bottom again, thirsty body dragging and gripping Victor, even at this new angle. While pleased to have such an adaptable student, the coach intends to _top_ his protégé, dammit. He won’t allow himself to drop once more to the receiving end of this fuck. 

"Alright," Victor growls. Yuri’s eyes snap to attention, as though Victor plans to order Yuri around the rink one more time. "Knock it off!" He pinches the soft flesh between Yuri's hip and waist. Yuri yelps and grinds down on him. 

"Are you so surprised?" Yuri's ass twerks, as much as he can. "Wasn't Eros the ultimate power-bottom performance?" And he winks at Victor when he pops his cheeks in tight little bursts. 

That does it. 

Never tease a man's world-record-winning choreography when he’s inside you. 

The coach pulls out, lifts Yuri bodily from the sheets then flips him with ease onto his belly. 

Yuri oofs a forced exhaust of air. He grabs fistfuls of linen and cants his hips up, begging and eager. 

Victor rams into him, thrusts a few good times, savors the way Yuri bites his own hand between thumb and forefinger to silence himself, then bends low over his back. Yuri turns his head to see him as much as he can.

"Fuck me, Victor. Hard." 

"Are you sure you can be quiet?"

"I'm not sure if I care to." 

He would, though, tomorrow. He has enough sense left to think of poor Tomorrow Yuri, who will be mortified if Tonight Yuri wakes the whole household. So, he grabs a pillow and moans into it to demonstrate the muffle for Victor, who shrugs, utterly indifferent about whether or not the Katsuki clan hears them. 

Victor's first thrust in this position, melted over him, is a slam into Yuri’s body that makes him yelp and press the pillow to his face. The drive is deep, and lingering, as Victor once again doesn't pull out, but hugs his arms around Yuri's middle to luxuriate in the feel of him, all around, as much of his skin touching his lover’s as possible. The smell of Yuri, hot with sex, is so powerful he needs to taste it, so he licks Yuri’s neck up to the tuft of his hair at the base of his skull. 

Yuri gets this one chance to rock his hips back into Victor, to control exactly how his lover’s dick hits him from behind like this, to roll just enough that he bottoms out at a new angle. He feels the cap of Victor’s head tug against a different inner ridge. His eyes cross. But after that single, slow, grind from below, Victor turns merciless. 

_A hard fuck, a deep dicking,_ those were the words his protégé used to make requests, (more like demands). Victor takes the desires of his lover seriously. He delivers, roughing them up until they need more lube. Without breaking his pace, Victor finds it and holds the bottle high to watch a lengthy drizzle coat them both at their joining. And it’s been so long, so very long, for either of them. 

Yuri feels he’ll surely suffocate on this pillow if he sucks it into his face any further. His arms are latched underneath, clamping the sides up over his ears on the impressive thrusts. Perhaps if he can’t hear himself, no one else can? The cushion is gross from his saliva, sweat, and tears. The dampness doesn’t dissuade him from biting into it when he needs to. His eyes pinch and sting, because it feels so good, so right, Victor taking him, destroying him, like this. That second ephemeral skin he felt before is now a living thing, snapping and sparking like an electric eel. Heat waves dance from the scorched earth of Yuri’s back muscles up to meet Victor’s glowing sun. Four of his five senses melt from his body, leaving him with touch, feeling only the pump and pull of his lover. 

Victor bucks into him one vicious time to the hilt and leans down all the way again, further even, flattening himself against Yuri’s back as he gives them a momentary breather. His dick is pulled mostly out by his cuddling upper body. His head and upper shaft rest comfortably inside. He finds Yuri's hands and curls them into fists. His own fingers thread between Yuri's, and dig their nails into the meat of Yuri's upper palm. He leans up to admire his handy work, like their fists are molded together to form the clawed feet of an old porcelain tub. He ruts a quick, shallow circle with his hips, while squeezing the combined fists. Yuri squeezes back and Victor loves it. Yuri fits so perfectly beneath and around him! Damn, he loves this man so much, Victor's not entirely sure sex-crying is out of the picture. 

Yuri raises his mouth away from the pillow and nuzzles the back of his skull against Victor’s chin, gratitude for the brief reprieve. Victor chomps at his hair, licks his way to Yuri’s ear and growls low: 

“Imagine how loud you’ll be in our new home,” he pulls out and thrusts hard in again, making Yuri clamp up, hug the pillow. Victor doesn't help. “Yuur-ri,” he whispers, evil, twisted. “I want to hear you scream, my Yuri.” 

“I’m sorry,” he almost chokes on the words, voice breaking, fists compressing Victor’s fingers. Panting the rest of his words between thrusts, “I’m sorry… I can’t… here…”

“Oh, don’t apologize,” he begins riding in earnest again, barely pulling out between thrusts this time, still partially pressed over Yuri’s back. He makes a rapid, needful point with the fluid repetition of his hips. “I love that someone might hear us,” he rumbles, and seems to be aiming so that their skin slaps louder with every thrust. “I hope you… fail… to shush yourself.” He’s close. And Yuri’s all but sobbing his gasps into open air, the pillow finally too suffocating, and discarded. That Russian accent thickens again as he pulls back and begins to beat their bodies together with all his force. “Shush, Yurachka, so your family… and their patrons... don’t hear you.”

They lose their minds with elongated, finishing thrusts. They both know anyone who’s awake will hear. Victor hugs Yuri at the end, encasing his lover in his entire body as he spills into him. 

"Help me, takara?" Yuri begs, pushing up with his hips to reach beneath his own body. 

"Da, da, agggh..." Victor melts out of Yuri, off his knees, legs stretching out behind him as he supports himself on wobbly hands. 

Yuri grabs himself and begins stroking, he's not really hard, even though the fucking was hip-rendingly amazing. His strokes start to take effect and a moment later Victor’s hand replaces Yuri's. It's an unspoken agreement, Victor reaches around and Yuri moves his hand away, all fluidity. Yuri smiles, his thighs opening up, arms weakening, he slumps his chest down to the mattress, feels his skin stick there with sweat. Yuri whines as his dick engorges in his lover's hand. It's all happening at once, just like he thought it would. His body is so very satisfied, his cock swells from chub to rager in a few strokes, the heat cascades down his spine and ripples into his pelvis, tight and ready to pop. Victor's face is low, hovering near his own and Yuri doesn't feel he has to scream the man's name as he comes, he can hiss it in a high-pitched, supplicatory wheeze right there, into Victor’s cheek and ear. 

After rolling onto his back and regaining his breathing, at last, Victor laughs, “Thank you, Yuri.” And sighs at the ceiling, “That was amazing!” 

“Me? _Thank you!_ " In a fit of manic little giggles, Yuri rolls himself Te Maki (hand roll) style in the sheets. "I’m so glad we finally did it!” 

How can this be the same man who insisted on a hard fucking? How can a single human be Eros _and_ so overwhelmingly cute? Victor scoops the entire Yuri Roll into his embrace, cradling his fiancé and all his sheets in a neat bundle. Yuri hums his approval. Then his eyes open, looking up at Victor with a smile. He's sweating in his cocoon, so he declares: 

“We need something to drink." Looking around like he could even get up if he wanted to, wrapped as he is. "Do you have any water or juice in here? I’d hate to go to the kitchen.” 

“Your family is asleep, surely?” 

"Not after all your efforts!" Yuri teases and kicks his feet. “No, seriously, my parents might be, but not Mari. She could probably hear everything and...” Yuri shakes away the head bully. “I’m not embarrassed,” he asserts to himself as much as Victor. And he smiles, “I’m glad I was loud.” Victor squeezes him tight with pride. “She’ll probably say something like ‘It’s about time.’ I just don’t want to see her, like, _right_ afterwards.” He makes a face. Victor laughs. 

“Yes. I have water and juice in my rink bag.” 

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Yuri huffs as he kicks his way free and retrieves the bag.

Victor shrugs. “I like making you squirm.” 

“Yeah you do.” Yuri chugs, and finishes with a satisfied exhale, like a soda commercial. 

The Russian laughs and takes a gulp of a proffered bottle. 

Yuri crawls back up the bed and is so tired, suddenly. It's not the real sleepy sort of tired. It's a comfort that sinks into his bones from the outside. First the air feels heavy, and then the dampness of his skin begins to dry. And his heart slows down. With one inhale that expands his chest happily and cozily, his muscles begin to feel the weight. And finally his bones want nothing more than to meld into the bed, wrapped up in Victor. 

“Let’s try to sleep, huh? Maybe just a bit?” 

Victor reaches for his phone and looks at the time. “It’s still early.” 

“Yeah, it feels early, we’ll get back up, but aren’t you tired?” 

“Yeah, I could nap.” 

They snuggle into one another, face to face, toes scrunching together before playing up and down and behind one another’s calves and ankles. Yuri’s face softens, eyes shining. The smile on his lover’s face is thick with emotion. And gazing into that sweet joy, responding to it with his own lips, Yuri’s eyes start sagging, blinking. 

\--------

He wakes up, maybe an hour later, when Victor gets up to use the restroom.  
And Yuri wakes up _horny._ He dreamed of nothing else, probably because the smell of sex is thick in the air, the sheets, the pillows, his skin and Victor’s. He looks at the clock. It’s only midnight? Still hours left before they need to go to the rink in the morning! And he smiles. Victor's been so patient. So eager for Yuri to take him. And Yuri's not nervous about it anymore. Not with his lower back feeling that pleasant muscle soreness of a good and thorough pounding. Victor, in all his glorious nudity, saunters, looking hazy with sleep and sex drunk, back toward the bed. Yuri decides to ask if he's ready for round two. Or, well, technically it's round three isn't it? Yuri shakes his head, disbelieving. 

"I like that look in your eye, lyubov moya," Victor worms his way under the covers until his legs can clamp and peddle playfully with Yuri's. "Never quite seen it before.” He brushes some of Yuri’s hair off his forehead with his fingers. “What's it mean?" 

Yuri blushes and pecks Victor's lips. "It means I woke up horny," he announces. And before he can lose his nerve: "So... the bet… maybe?" Yuri's hand slides down Victor's spine. 

"Damn your stamina, Yuri Katsuki!” Victor sighs, hanging his head, "I can't imagine coming again tonight." 

Yuri laughs, "So, you come every time you've bottomed then? Just from bottoming?" 

"Well,” Victor blinks and his brows cinch together, “I've made myself finish with toys, yes." 

"Yeah, but I mean, when you were with Chris or..." 

"Yuri." Victor looks at him strangely. 

"What?" 

"I told you in Barcelona." 

Yuri tilts his head like Makkachin does when Victor talks to him. "What?" 

Oh no. Victor knew he wasn’t direct enough about it before, he never came right out and said it. He let Yuri assume… damn it all. Now Yuri’s eyes turn frightened. Victor bites his bottom lip and sits up. Yuri joins him. His sweet hands cling to Victor’s, worrying thumbs roll circles over the knuckles. Yuri swallows. 

“What is it, takara?” 

"I've never bottomed Yuri. I'm an anal virgin, except for toys," he smirks, “and your fingers.”

"Victor!” Yuri pulls away. “Don't tell me that!" Then he’s up and pacing. Eros be damned. What Eros? He can't... it can't be true! He, Yuri Katsuki, is expected to... take… 

"No way. No… I…can’t. I can't..!" 

"What?" Victor leans forward, over the edge of the bed. In these situations, he loves to tease as much as he loves to be gentle, it’s about 50/50 which approach breaks the tension better. He licks his lips, "Take my anal virginity?"

Yuri whispers curses in Japanese so vulgar he’d make drunk Minako blush. He paces faster, repeating “I can’t!” 

“You can and you will,” coach voice commands, but he softens when Yuri’s distressed eyes finally land on his own, his body standing still. “Yurachka.” Victor smiles, the closed-lip one, full of love. “I want you to.”

“Well, it’s not going to be tonight! I’m too freaked out!” 

“No, I suppose not.” Victor hangs his head.

“I can’t believe this!” Yuri throws up his hands. Everything he’s ever thought about Victor, rewritten, and it hurts. He pulls his hair. "I can't believe you're an anal virgin!"

Victor feels exasperated, because seriously: "How did you not figure this out?” he scoffs, too harsh. “When you fingered me, I said you were my first. You thought I let a cock inside, but not a pair of fingers?" 

Yuri does not like Victor’s tone. "We were kind of in the middle of something! My mind wasn’t good for processing right then.” This is not Yuri’s fault, dammit. “And ever since, we've been running, skating, drinking, having sex, traveling, and…” His hands gesture wildly with each item on the list. “And! And… I didn't get a chance to figure it out before now!" He deflates and sits next to Victor on the bed. Victor touches his shoulder, but Yuri shrugs him off and scoots a few inches out of reach. 

Yuri remembers the events on the bench very clearly. “I was about to ask if you’d ever fingered anyone before, because you were copying my own movements inside me, but you interrupted, saying I was your first.” Yuri crosses his arms. “I thought you’d never prepped someone, they always did it themselves. Or you’d had a ton of sex, but wouldn’t let people prep you for some reason? Maybe you’d just never been fingered in public! There’s a ton of options here, Victor!” He grips the edge of the bed, looking away and feeling ashamed. “I didn’t know. I can’t read your mind. But…” his voice cracks, “I didn’t ask either, so.” Yuri buries his face in his hands, shaking his head: _“Why do we always do this?!”_

This lament cuts a hole in Victor and the coach scooches the distance, so he can rub Yuri’s shoulders. 

“Just relax, detka. It’s not so bad as all that.” Victor realizes he let this happen, a lie by omission. 

Yuri scoffs, doesn’t look up from his hands. “Relax he says! I can't take... Victor, I've never taken anyone's! I can't do that...”

“You can and you will.” Victor repeats with a squeeze. Then he kisses the tuft of Yuri’s hair at the base of his neck. “I've wanted it to be you since...”

“Since when?” Yuri perks up. 

“Since you dipped me on the dance floor. You were smaller than me, but you dipped me, Yuri and...”

“Drunk!” Yuri twists to glare at his lover. “I was black-out drunk when you decided to lose your virginity to me!”

“You weren't drunk when you took one of my virginities already.” Victor kisses those pouty lips before Yuri’s neck pulls back, chin folding onto his throat. He looks like a confused bird, Victor smiles and boops his nose with a finger. “You seemed quite pleased with yourself afterward.”

Yuri flumps back onto the bed. Looking at the ceiling, he confesses: “I don't know what I was thinking! I didn't think it was your first time... I knew you hadn’t had many... I just... I'm sorry I assumed and didn't even ask.”

“Yuu-ri,” Victor pets him, “I’m sorry I let you assume whatever you wanted, just so I could have you without any drama. It was very selfish of me. In the moment, I thought it was the right thing. We had a good time. But now we talk about this stuff, right?”

“We're talking,” Yuri looks at him with a weak smile. “Yes. Right.”

“And talking isn't always pretty.” Victor exhales, but shares his own tight-lipped and loving grin. “I'm so very glad we’re doing this, Yuri.”

“Me too,” Yuri swallows and his glassy eyes blink rapidly, leaking a couple tears down both sides of his face. Victor isn’t fast enough to catch them both. He lies on Yuri and kisses away the salty sadness on the left side, licking the trail of its wake from Yuri’s jawline to the corner of his eye socket. Yuri squirms, but Victor holds him still. 

Yuri sniffles into a smirk. “You tried to tell me. When you mentioned Tinder.” 

“I did.”

“But I was so in my head! I’m always too in my head about us.” 

“I am too. We’re working on it, love,” Victor kisses Yuri between his eyebrows. “Both of us.”

They lay, foreheads together, eyes closed, for several long moments, breathing together. Their noses start to rub and nuzzle and their lips find one another. A soft kiss of forgiveness, chaste and sweet. Victor lets more of his weight rest on Yuri’s chest, his hands cradle underneath his lover’s head, fingers lacing. Yuri rolls the base of his skull in Victor’s palms. He opens his eyes and laughs at the face of his idol, so close, and still so very naked, atop him.

"I can't believe _the Victor Nikiforov_ is more of a virgin than I am!" 

Victor laughs. "Trust me, neither can I." 

"But I also wish I'd waited, sometimes, especially now. I wish I'd waited for you," he blushes. "Like you've waited for me, Vitya. Oh gosh!" He tries to cover his face again and Victor won’t let him, untangling his hands to wrestle with Yuri’s arms.

Once he has his fiancé’s attention, "I wasn't waiting, Yurachka. I'm...” his eyes cut to the side. His voice is softer, hoarse somehow, when he continues: “Perhaps you've noticed, but I'm a fairly private individual." 

Yuri mocks a face of utter shock and clasps his cheeks. 

"Indeed." Victor scoffs, then hangs his head, too quiet, temples too strained. 

“What is it?” Yuri asks, stroking Victor’s cheek with a pair of gentle fingers. 

Victor sits up, kneeling between Yuri’s legs, on the bed.

"Think of my public persona, from your posters,” he smiles at Yuri’s eye roll. Then he fixes Yuri’s irises with a soul-baring stare, "Now think of who I really am."

Yuri understands almost immediately, wants to tell his fiancé not to continue, but Victor keeps speaking, urgency spiking his tone.

"As much as I crave the audience and their joy, some intimate parts of my life I've never shared with fans, the media, or even my teammates." The pads of Victor's fingertips skate a smooth line up Yuri's right arm, from his ring finger, to his elbow, and back. His eyes cut left and low, he's not looking at anything, especially not Yuri. His chest rises and falls on audible breaths. 

Yuri hates this, he wants to kiss Victor, an apology for asking so much, for feeling like he needs the answer. But Victor taught him how to wait, patiently, for your lover to gather their words and share a piece of themselves with you. And he wants that. Obviously, Victor wants it too. He inhales at last.

"That...someone inside of me… taking possession of the last secret, private part of me..." his neck bows, dropping the weight of his head like it’s suddenly too much, his hair curtaining his face, so Yuri can't see. "I thought I'd never recover, if someone did that to me. I'd have nothing left that was mine." Then he hiccups a sad laugh, "except Makkachin, I suppose," and he sniffles. 

Yuri wets his lips and sits up, so he can be level with Victor. He brushes Victor’s bangs aside with his fingers, tracing the edge of his lover’s face. He recovers his voice enough to whisper:

“Why me?” 

Victor blinks at him, one side of his mouth tugs upward. 

"I've never felt I could be possessed by anyone but you. I never wanted it." His own ringed finger comes up to his lips and he bites the ring, gentle and loving between his teeth, tongue tasting the band. Yuri watches this display with a quickening pulse. “I want to be wholly yours, I don't want to hide anything from you."

Yuri slides forward and envelopes Victor with all four limbs, cradling his lover to his chest, holding tight. His fiancé sighs into the comfort, not realizing how desperately he needed it until it was offered. 

"I love you, I love you, so much," Yuri kisses and soothes. "Forget the bet," he whispers. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do." 

"I've never wanted to do it before you, Yuri." His hands wrap around and cling to Yuri's shoulders. He hums, shaking his head so his fringe sweeps Yuri's nipple. "Now it's almost all I can think about. I can't guarantee I'll like it, we might get going and have to stop, but I want to feel you inside me, dorogoy. I want to give that to you." He gulps down the last scraps of emotion blocking his airways. "I want... I want to experience what you just felt with me. I want to know what that sensation means for me, for us." 

"But... I..." Yuri swallows, eyes watering. "I made you cry once," Yuri sighs. And then Victor cocks a brow at him, nudges him. "Haha. Okay, twice, but only once when I _really_ hurt you. And I don't want to ever hurt you again! I swear. You're so wonderful." Tears do slip out, he can't stop them and Victor kisses them away. 

"You won't. If I don't like it, I promise to tell you, my love." He nuzzles his face into Yuri. "I want you to. I want..." he kisses Yuri's lips and says the last word against his mouth, "...you." 

Silence lasts a moment, broken by Victor's melodic chuckle, "Now you know why I wanted to go first when it came to your winnings.”

Yuri gasps. "This is too much at once!" Yuri has told Victor about overloading his system like this! He feels like he needs to go for a very, very long run. Maybe to the beach and back? Three times?

“Oh… Yuri,” Victor’s embrace is slow, elongated by the emotion he desperately kneads into every inch of skin; it’s not just Victor’s hands that massage Yuri. His forearms roll and press, even his elbows gently mold into Yuri’s tension wherever they find it. “My sweet, darling, Yuri…” 

Yuri feels Victor’s cheek lean into the skin of his neck until the soft flesh is flat and pressed tight, then Victor’s face roves down, cheek dragging over the muscle and bone of his shoulder, until Victor curls himself lower and his cheek rubs, like a cat’s, into the base of Yuri’s neck. There, Victor nuzzles with the soft side of his face, kissing little pecks every time his lips meet skin. Tears pull at Yuri’s eyes and throat. “Victor… I… please…” he wants any and all misunderstanding to be absolved in flesh. He needs this. 

Victor doesn’t answer with words, he lays Yuri down, agonizingly gentle, softer and kinder than Yuri feels he deserves. And then there’s lube and the most loving prep Yuri’s cavity could ever dream of. His breaths are hitched little pleas by the time Victor withdraws his fingers and scooches down between Yuri’s legs so that he can hold Yuri tight, close, flush. Then Yuri opens all the muscles he can control inside and out for Victor, to receive him as smoothly as possible. Entered again at last, Yuri moans, pitiful and prayerful, into Victor’s hair. And. 

And it begins. 

It feels better and lasts far longer than they imagined, maybe forever. This is their life now. Sex in a swelling pool of love, writhing in and out of each other completely, so completely inside and out. It's never felt anything like this, and now it's theirs. Now there is nothing else and there never will be again. Their bodies ride this knowledge like it’s the meaning of life. Like they’ll never misunderstand each other again, so long as they can always depend on this, just this. It's all either of them need.

In silent conversation, more earnest and open than any of their speeches to one another thus far tonight, they agree on many things. With their eyes, their hands, even their pulse and breath, they express so much, knowing there’s time to articulate these diatribes out loud later. 

Victor lifts Yuri upright. The coach kisses sweet Russian nothings into his fiancé’s collar while he rocks long and loving thrusts upwards and canted slightly toward Yuri’s belly. Yuri feels a sudden, almost imperceptible, wetness at his shoulder that can’t be sweat or saliva.

"Oh Victor!" Yuri reaches around and pulls him close, tight, hot, strong, intense. Yuri sniffles, tears rolling over his sockets in steady rivulets. Then, on a soul penetrating thrust, that hits him hard right where he needs it, he coughs a breathy sob of a laugh. “Hah, Vi-vit-ya… I told you we’d…” he swallows, “we couldn’t avoid,” and gasps when his lover’s fingernails channel the back of his ribs on another deep lunge, “c-crying!” 

The Russian is reduced to hiccupping little choked giggles, shuddering his body with Yuri’s, wobbling them together, inside. He pushes off the headboard, Yuri didn’t even realize they were so close to it, Victor’s been holding him upright this whole time, when he could have just pressed his back into the wood for more support. And then Victor’s looking Yuri in the eyes. And Yuri can see the sheen of tears. And Yuri shakes his happy, soppy face, because his beloved is smiling at him so very big and dopey, despite the tear-stained skin. Yuri leans forward and presses a kiss to Victor’s lips. 

And Victor walks them back down the bed on his knees and lowers Yuri down on the mattress, and keeps his hips up and supported in his lap, while he folds as far as he can over Yuri, kissing his skin and fucking him faster, with easy fluidity. And Yuri didn’t realize until the long fingers grip around his cock that he’s hard, he’s hard as hell! There’s precum, even, the familiar roll of Victor’s thumb is smearing it around and… could he? Could he maybe? Don’t overthink it! His body responds naturally to his lover’s stroking wrist, rolling and tightening his pelvis up into the impromptu pleasure. 

The newness of this sensation isn’t lost on Victor, he watches Yuri’s face, and the way Yuri’s body constricts is enough to cascade his eyes and ears in the dull roar of orgasm, grinding out a cry of “lyubov moya!” as his hand pumps and pumps Yuri’s shaft while he coats his insides. 

The strokes are too dry, or Yuri would have come _with_ his lover. Victor realizes this as he descends from the haze and spits in both his palms, rubbing Yuri out while he stays seated, still pulsing, inside. Yuri’s eyes blow wide when he realizes it’s going to happen without Victor pulling out. And just this final acceptance of something so new and exciting with the man he loves, has always loved, more than anything, does it. 

Yuri comes an explosive gush. He even hits himself in the face with a few drops and is reduced to a puddle of manic laughter. Victor collapses into the mirth, disjoining, and laying on top of him, getting his own belly sticky with Yuri’s juices. His fist clenches around a hefty deposit of Yuri and when he lifts up to look at what’s left of his lover, he raises the fist to his mouth.

“Oh, Victor! Don’t!” But Yuri knows this is futile. He watches, dumbstruck, as Victor laps long licks of his tongue over his own palm, until all evidence of Yuri’s first orgasm with a man inside him is swallowed with a roll of his lover’s beautiful throat.

Victor smacks his lips a couple times for effect. Yuri groans, but doesn’t protest, because his lover withdraws, slow and gentle, and rolls the two of them so Yuri is blanketed upon Victor, listening to his heart beat decelerate. 

The pair can hear the deluge of thoughts, unspoken, but exchanged in the act, ringing clear between them, now. It's overwhelming. Their newest bond is powerful beyond expectation. They have to flow through it, coming undone and putting each other back together, but neither of them can speak at the moment. Words are too dumb and small. 

“Are you okay?” Victor finally rasps, petting Yuri’s spine between his shoulder blades. His body tenses beneath Yuri’s cheek.

“I-I'm perfect, I feel so-so..." there are no adjectives, "much." That sounds right. He reaches a hand up to caress Victor’s cheek.

Victor swallows, his whole body quivering as he nods. "Me neither."

“It felt like we were still talking, right?” Yuri smiles, eyes sleepy and sagging. 

“HmMmm,” Victor nods.

“Did you get all that?” Yuri laughs.

Victor blinks at him. "I think so, but I still expect a translation." 

"I understand. Me too. Will you tell me, too?" 

"Of course." 

"Let's sleep again, first?" 

"Agreed." 

And they curl up into one another, asleep in moments.

In the final pre-dawn hours, when every 10 minutes they look over their shoulders, expecting the sunrise, they tell one another everything. All the things their bodies said and felt and expressed. They make sure every word is right, or as right as two delirious brains can be. They laugh about it, especially how similar their expressions are, the way they translate. They laugh about how stupidly in sync they are. 

"We've had months and months together,” Yuri puts his glasses on. There’s no point pretending he’s going to sleep again, now. “I guess we understand one another better than we knew?" 

Victor nods like a silly sap. "Yes! All we had to do was fuck it out." 

Yuri slaps a pillow at him. "You make it sound so easy!" 

"Do not start a pillow fight with me," Victor threatens.

"I've already proven I can beat you, old man!”

 _SWAP_ A pillow lands hard across his ass cheeks. 

Yuri gives his fiancé a final chance to back out "Stamina, Victor, remember..."

Victor brings the pillow down again, "Respect your elder!"

Tingling all over with silliness and joy, they get up, start to get ready. Because they have to, they don’t have a choice. Both bodies and minds would rather be asleep, perhaps until afternoon. But Nationals are in 10 days, Yakov is expecting them on Skype in three hours and there’s still so many of Victor’s bags to pack. 

Victor chuckles in the mirror. “He’s going to see right through us, you know?” 

His fiancé pulls at the dark circles under his eyes and laughs. “Sorry, not sorry?” 

Their public displays of affection are extreme, even for them, throughout the day. Yuri never flinches or shyly pushes Victor away. In fact, Yuri initiates the flirtation as often as his coach. If they have to be apart for three weeks, he'll make the most of every moment. 


	8. Practice makes Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor's never fucked himself with a toy before.  
> (yes, Victor's early efforts to prep for his beloved Top Yuri, because I couldn't resist!)  
> Yuri's never had sex via video chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it again! Another random chapter snuck its way in here!  
> Meanwhile, we posted the conclusion of our favorite threesome's sexy snow bunny romp in the Alps:  
> [ After the Rejection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11016084/chapters/24936156)  
> Hope you guys enjoy this one. I promise the actual end is nigh.

"Vicchan!" Hiroko called to her favorite house guest. When Victor trotted down the hall, he hoped to get another sample of Yu-Topia's fine cuisine. He was familiar with half the menu so far and looked forward to exploring the rest. There was no food on the table nor tray in hand, and Victor must have looked quizzical, because Yuri's mother gestured to the entryway. 

Oh. More packages sat waiting for Victor. He squinted, confident his regular possessions were all accounted for. What could these be? Carrying three boxes, each the size and weight of a small kitchen appliance, he looked for any identifying markings. Shipping labels were generic and non-descript. Wait. Could his order have arrived so soon? He slid his door closed and latched it. 

Yuri was at Minako's studio, practicing his feminine Eros. Victor rolled his eyes. Sure, Yuri was hot as hell in that androgynous costume, dancing with all his well-rehearsed wiles. But Victor wished Yuri was out there practicing his pole skills instead. A seductive _man_ on a pole is what really inspired Eros, after all.

He set the boxes on his bed, heart fluttering to open them. But he took a step back. Victor knew exactly what they contained now. He wasn’t afraid, he just felt self-conscious, and perhaps a touch of buyer’s remorse. Don’t be silly. His mind teased images of his student in Sochi, the smell of him, the moisture of his sweat when they pressed close. Yuri’s stains remained on Victor’s shirt from that night. He couldn't bring himself to get it dry cleaned, though it stopped smelling of Yuri and his cheap cologne long ago. 

That shirt was here somewhere. 

Victor’s breath became audible. He felt like a teenager. His fingers were tingling. He imagined himself, an image on someone’s phone, huffing old sweat stains and fucking himself with the toys that were no doubt in those boxes. This was a bad idea. He was in the household of his man-crush who either didn't feel the same or reciprocated, but felt an insurmountable shame about the night they'd first met. He believed it was the latter. So much so, that he refused to mention the banquet, despite dozens of opportunities. 

That didn't mean the event wasn't perfectly good masturbatory fuel. Victor knew where the Sochi shirt was. He’d never unpacked it, but his eyes shot to the box in question, second in a stack of three. There were no other clothes in that box. His Yuri shirt was under some mundane towels, which he’d never needed to unpack, there were so many here. There was a staff devoted to making towels available, even. Still, his eyes could almost see the shirt through the cardboard, folded neatly, hidden. 

His tongue rested on his lower lip and his upper front teeth dented the spongy muscle. When it pinched, Victor finally realized he was staring at a _box_ with a face like a hungry dog. He sighed. He wouldn't need the shirt for what he was about to do. 

Victor tore into the sex toy boxes on the bed. 

\---------

Okay. This wasn’t hard. He’d seen plenty of educational guys-fucking-themselves-with-toys porn. Read lots of articles online, even became a regular on the #AskGayMen Reddit. He was Victor Nikiforov and he’d never failed at a physical challenge. Also, this was for Yuri. Victor reminded himself, looking at Yuri on his phone, skating his free skate for the millionth time. He shook his head, too romantic for this, and flipped back through the banquet photos until he found Yuri on the pole. Yes. That’s the man he expected to see in the bedroom if he could ever get Yuri there. He expected the gentle pork cutlet to disappear and the god of lust to conquer. 

Victor’s eyes stretched over the fabric of Yuri’s crotch, the pelvic muscles clinging to that pole like he lived up there his whole life. This was the Yuri of Victor's mind's eye: permanently affixed to some lucky pole between his powerful thighs. 

Victor’s cock stood tall with desire to be such a pole. 

He rubbed himself slow and easing into it. Looking at the picture of Chris and Yuri, he clenched his thighs like he imagined they did in order to stay up there. He’d never had a pole class himself. Maybe he should try? 

His fingers greased the length, strumming index to pinky, index to pinky. His knuckles rolled in self appreciation.

This isn’t what he’s supposed to be doing right now. He reminded himself. He’s supposed to be fucking his own ass. 

Fingers are the easy part, right? He could do this. Okay. He got up on all fours. His shoulder and tricep didn't like reaching back in this position. Once his hand smoothed over the thin fabric of his briefs, he felt like he might be twisting his arm out of its socket. 

Would he even want to be taken like this? Or maybe? He laid back flat on the bed. He'd want to see Yuri's face, wouldn't he? With his back in the sheets, Victor felt most comfortable, but once again, his ass was quite inaccessible. 

Feeling ridiculous, he rose his hips off the bed and stuck his hand down the back of his briefs. This position wasn't workable. He touched the pad of his index finger to his asshole and knew the angle was all wrong. So, he tried lying on his side. He decided reaching around behind himself was the problem. So, he got up on his knees. This was better, more like he was fucking, rather than getting fucked. He felt less prone, more at ease to reach underneath himself, rather than behind. 

Yes. This was good for both his fingers and his wrists. 

The other hand he thought might as well keep playing with himself, so he could associate all this awkward, unusual butt stuff with pleasure, with orgasm. Yes, that’s what the pros advised. 

Alright. No pressure. He'd fingered himself before, when he was younger, just to try it. He hadn't hated it. Just the idea of anyone else doing it, that was the problem. He shuddered. He thought of Chris, who wanted it, who Victor trusted to be gentle and discreet, to never speak of their encounters to anyone. Chris who he'd topped, dear lovable Chris who hadn't complained, just enjoyed himself. Victor missed Chris. Hell, he missed being sexually active. He'd come here expecting... nevermind. No good thinking the bad thoughts right now. He had a mission. 

Better to start with the smallest toy, though he was tempted to go big. He bought a set of conifer-ic butt plugs of increasingly larger sizes, good for those in training. He chose them because rather than a stopper at the end, each had a ring for ease of playing with and gripping. Victor held the smallest toy in his fist. The body of it was engulfed, only the length of his palm and no longer. The ring stuck out one side of his fist. 

He used way too much lube; he was glad he still wore his briefs to soak up most of it. He didn't want a tell-tale stain on the mattress for Yuri's mother and sister to clean. But, held in by the fabric, the excess lube was slurpy and weird in his ass cheeks. Weird, yes, but not _bad_ , he decided. He ran his dry fingers through it and slicked them all. Maybe he would try each finger in order to see which one felt the best? Yeah, that way he'd need them all lubed anyway. Not a waste. He nodded his head, proud of this decision. Why was he worried about wasting lube? Victor glanced at the drawer he was certain held two or more brand new, unopened bottles of lube. 

He inhaled a steadying breath. 

In trying to spread his cheeks with his dry hand, Victor's fingers couldn't get traction. His cheeks were too slippery! He flumped his face in the pillow. How could he be so bad at this? It was the easiest, most natural thing in the world and he sucked at it because he didn't have any practice whatsoever. 

Finally, he gave up on spreading and jabbed the smallest tip of the smallest cone against his pucker. The widening shape of the toy itself served to spread his cheeks as much as he needed right now. There he held it for a moment, not pushing in just yet. He used his overly lubed fingers, now useless to the task between his cheeks, to stroke himself instead. That helped. Oh yes, he sighed into the pleasure of friction, warm and moist, on his flesh.

Soon, he was hard enough to feel blood thrumming across his undercarriage. Around the tip of the toy, his insides pulsed for attention. The toy was slick with lube, he opened up for it, gave the slightest press with his finger, and the little thing was sucked right in! For a second, he thought he'd lose it. The ring at the end was pliable. It started to bend inward, chasing the neck designed for his body to cling to. So this is why people usually got plugs with stoppers at the end? Noted. He tugged gently; the ring re-positioned itself into a rubbery circle, and seated the plug. Victor was surprised at the prowess of his insides, trying to slurp up an entire toy on the first try. He seemed more than ready for intrusion. 

Letting his strokes quicken, his dick needy with precum, Victor tried rolling his hips and rising up and down on his knees. He imagined riding Yuri like this. His index finger curled around the ring of the toy and gave it some tentative twirls. He found he enjoyed moving the pressure around the different walls. The fingers stroking his member grew sticky and required a fresh coat of lube. The image of Yuri on the pole was gone, as his phone went back to the home screen. No matter, Victor was blissed out already, envisioning the skater's sinewy body beneath him. 

Feeling amazing, he wanted the full experience. He wanted thrusting. He twiddled the ring sticking out of his ass. While the swirling point inside felt good, interesting, as it explored and poked his various walls, he pushed in and knew this little guy was too small to achieve a good thrust. He eyed the slightly larger one to his side. The little one had been so easy, he could switch them before he came. Stroking eagerly, breath and heart quickening, perineum tightening, he gripped the ring between his cheeks and yanked. 

Pop! He felt like it pulled his asshole inside out. And it burned. The pain sent tears to his eyes and a softness to his cock. Next came embarrassment. He fanned out like a starfish on the bed, staring at the ceiling and feeling like an impossible idiot.

One fall on the ice never stopped Victor Nikiforov. He kept getting back up until he stuck the landing. Tentatively, he clenched and un-clenched his anus. It was not inside out, not burning anymore. He grabbed the medium-sized trainer and the lube. 

He'd nail this jump like any other. 

\--------------

Several gradually more successful attempts later, he looked forward to the glide and pull at the end of each day. After saying good night to Yuri, he'd undress and dive into bed as quickly as possible, while he could still smell the man, feel the touch of his skin. Victor became braver during the day as well. After the Cup of China, his handsy advances were not rejected nearly so often. Progress with Yuri inspired progress with his anal play. 

The glass dildo was Victor's favorite. Cool and smooth, it provided the least resistance of the toys he'd purchased, made him feel comfortable with faster thrusting. The pressure of being filled was enjoyable, but he loved to lose that fullness, then regain it, over and over. Smooth nodules of texture at the middle of its length helped him experience a repetitive stretch. Like all exercises, Victor had fun mastering this one. Damn, he felt like a kid again, trying all this new stuff and learning so much about his body.

The lube was his other favorite part. He kept trying to get it deeper and deeper, he really liked the squishiness inside. He wanted to feel the slippery sensation as far inside as possible. He swiveled his hips, angled and twisted and lunged the lube deeper with every thrust.

A shock charged up his spine. His fingers fell away from the toy. 

It stuck inside, protruding only an inch, he'd flexed so tight! He felt the head change position when he un-clenched his ass. His eyelids were fluttering, there was darkness and spotty stars at the edges of his vision. Had he just come? He checked. He actually had to check! Nope... so, was that? It must have been! Victor grabbed the base of the lodged toy and tilted it the same way again. This time, when his body hitched, he held onto the toy. Rubbed it on the spot and bared down with his remaining muscle control. His jaw hurt from gritting his teeth so very, very hard. His cock skin screamed for friction. 

Finally, he touched himself, reckless strokes that tore through his need as he pushed the toy into that blessed spot again and again. Blyad! Fuck! It took all he had not to scream those words out for all the onsen to hear. 

He came so rough and ragged, unable to contain the spurts, as his hands fell away, reaching for someone who wasn't there. He watched in disbelief as some of it hit the floor beyond the foot of the bed.

If having Yuri inside him was anything like _**that**_ , Victor was not ready. Oh, not at all. But he would be. 

\---------------

"And that's how I found my prostate!" Victor cheers with a flourish of arms that throws his face out of focus on Yuri's screen. Then he re-centers and grins all the way to his ears, lips chasing his blush down the sides of his neck. 

"Oh yeah?" Yuri smirks. "Why don't you show me?" 

"Yuu-ri!" Victor pretends to be shy, while also flashing his hungry eyes. "You look as if you already enjoyed that story very much."

He's not wrong. Yuri insists on sitting so his erection is visible beneath his briefs. He answers the accusation with one of his own. 

"You did all this at my house? With my family downstairs?"

Victor nods, that proud smirk on his face.

"Where did you buy the toys? Not in Hasetsu..." 

Victor knows, "Your town is _full_ of gossips obsessed with our love life." 

"Wait... what's that supposed to...?"

"Never mind, Yurachka," he winks. "I bought them online. They were delivered discretely, looking like any other packages I had shipped to Yu-Topia." Victor beams, seeing Yuri's hand squeeze between his legs. "You like how clever I was, hm?"

Yuri shakes his head. "Not as clever as you think. But the idea of you writhing and wrecked, silently screaming my name, just a few doors down?" He shrugs. "Yeah, maybe a little." 

Victor laughs. The sound of it isn't right, coming through Yuri's laptop speakers. But it was a genuine laugh, he could tell. And hearing it, however distorted, sends a sad, sweet chill from his heart coursing over his limbs and landing behind his eyes. Fuck. He misses Victor so much. 

He doesn't say it. If he did, the waterworks would follow soon. And crying is for when he's alone. Victor is here with him now. So, instead he says: 

"Yakov must be very frustrated with you." 

Victor looks like he's snapped out of a trance. And maybe he was entranced while staring at his lover. He blinks and his head shifts on his neck, barely perceptible, as his eyes refocus on Yuri's face. 

"Eh?" 

Yuri smiles. There may be nothing he loves more than catching Victor Nikiforov off guard. He repeats himself.

"Yakov must be very frustrated with you." His eyebrows pop up, accusing, "You're worse at following directions than ever." 

"Yuuuuri..." Victor looks hurt for a full second before Yuri continues, his voice delicious, different: 

"I said: _Show me._ "

Victor swallows and Yuri watches his Adam's apple roll. 

"Com'n Victor," Yuri winks and blows a kiss. "Where do you keep the toys you made my poor, innocent mother sign for?" 

Victor gasps, "They weren't marked. There's no way she..." 

"Don't underestimate her. She's not naive or ignorant. Don't you think unmarked packages are a dead give away?" 

Victor is out of frame in the screen, rummaging under his bed, Yuri assumes. But the coach snorts the way he always does when he thinks he's about to say something clever or biting. 

"You're right. She's observant. Remember the way she served us breakfast and tea the morning after we...?" 

Yuri snaps: "You're not showing me!"

Victor's expression looks pouty when he comes back into view. Yuri sighs, "Should I hang up and watch porn instead?" 

"Don't you dare!" And Victor effing Nikiforov brandishes his weapon of choice. 

Yuri licks his lips, seeing the familiar glass toy. It's long, curvy, and ridged in the center. He wants to see it inside his fiancé, wants to be the one to push it in. 

"I'm sorry Yuri," Victor says, as he takes off his shirt, fingers running over his abs, teasing the belt of his pants. 

"Hm?" Yuri's the distracted one now. "What for?" 

"I didn't give you a reward for taking gold at Nationals." 

"That's true," he smiles, proud. "But it seems my reward is your reward, takara." 

"No, no. This is for you." He smiles, gliding his pants down. " _My_ reward was Yurio's face in all the press shots." He winks. 

Yuri giggles. Poor tiger. They'll have to make it up to him when they're all together in Russia next week. Soon, they'll see each other every day again, just like when all of this started. 

Drawn away from past reminisces and future projections by the gleam of pale, translucent skin, exposed and all for him, Yuri snaps back to the present. 

"Okay, Yuri," Victor croons, "don't take your eyes off of me."


	9. Called Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor has never bottomed. He's known for over a year he wanted Yuri to be his first.  
> Yuri has never felt so unafraid. For the first time, he's the calm one, the experienced one, the nurturing guide in the bedroom. 
> 
> Or, well, the billiard room. Victor finally made an exhibitionist of Katsuki Yuri after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, after a frightening four month hiatus, kudos to you! I don't know how to thank you! I hope this chapter is worthy penance, worthy of my gratitude and the love I feel for you right now. <3 <3
> 
> The only reason you're getting a chapter 9 and 10 as opposed to just a Finale Chapter 9 is because I couldn't stand to make you or myself wait any longer for an update! I've been editing 11k+ words all weekend and wanted you to have something to show for it! 
> 
> Plus, I've been on an emotional writing binge lately. As evidence, see four chapters of poly-follies, my most personal fic, [Loving Phichit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11453985/chapters/25674723) . Plus the most emo interpretation of the Yuri On Festival stage play, [ #Festival](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11588556)
> 
> You know what'll get you right out of that neggy-ouchy headspace? Porn. There's feels in this chapter, for sure. But overall, this is porn.
> 
> No more hiatuses. No more fear. Just getting it done. I've made a commitment to myself to finish all WIPs (in all fandoms- I'm looking at you 2 year old unfinished DBZ fic) by the end of the year. Wish me luck!

The billiard room was an afterthought, two pool tables stuffed in an ancillary space at the back of the bar. Tonight, Victor and Yuri have no interest in playing pool. They’re just exploring, tired of people-watching from their usual booth in the bar’s main area. Victor inspects the cues on the wall and the tattered leather pouches on the table corners. Everything is heavy with dust and the stale odor of nicotine.

They joke about speakeasies in America and what this room might have seen during the Soviet era. Yuri, pleasantly buzzed, runs his hand along the wall, looking for peep holes like in spy movies. Beyond the pool tables, at the far corner of the room, he discovers an unlocked storage closet.

 _Why did you try the knob?_ the sober part of Yuri's brain wonders. The buzzed part answers with an idea so dumb it must be brilliant. Shooting a look over his shoulder, Yuri beckons his lover follow him inside the darkened, throwaway room. Once inside, Yuri grabs one of Victor’s hands to pull him close, flush.

They're alone. The little nonsense room is so quiet its emptiness seems deafening. Or perhaps it's all the blood rushing through their ears to their groins? There is no _other_ reason two grown men, newly lovers, would silently agree to seclude themselves in this storage space. They know what they came in here to do.

With the door just cracked, alerting them to passerby or pool players, and surrounded by musty old boxes, Yuri Katsuki tortures his fiancé. 

Victor hears himself whimper as Yuri’s hands press and grab, fingers roam and squeeze. Yuri’s grown so bold since Barcelona! The Eros transformations happen less and less. Because Eros is no longer some separate being Yuri brings out on special occasions. And hot damn, Victor is reaping the benefits! He hitches a leg up Yuri’s thigh, giving his lover more access. This man who just over a year ago described his sexuality as his favorite food now initiates dangerous seduction in a public place without a care! Victor can’t decide if he’s proud of Yuri, or of himself for helping Yuri get to this place.

Victor’s thinking too much. Yuri can tell. He reaches up to hold Victor's face in both palms. He leans his lips up to Victor's, whispering, "I want the good people of St. Petersburg to find Russia's Treasure getting face fucked here in this empty pool hall."

The vulgar aggression shoots straight to Victor's cock head. His mind immediately sees the sight- Victor Nikiforov, on his knees, mouth lanced by Yuri's length. He imagines the photo some unsuspecting stranger will get internet-famous for posting- Yuri clutching the crown of silver while thrusting down his throat. Just imagining it, he can taste Yuri's cock on his tongue. And he licks his lips, involuntary but inviting.

Yuri hasn't moved his mouth from Victor's, neither closing the distance nor pulling away.

Victor pants a few breaths. _"Please?"_ he murmurs.

By this point in their sexual relationship, Yuri loves nothing more than to hear Victor say _please_ in every language. The whine of Victor's French, the purr of his Russian, the enunciation of Japanese, and the punch, that shot to the stomach, of Victor's accented English "Plez!" when he’s so worked up he can't speak English without sounding like a cartoon Russian villain. Yuri's dick is never harder than after hearing them all in sequence.

Making Victor beg is Yuri's most recent inspiration as he practices Eros on the ice. He tells his coach to listen for each plea. Eros’s blades jab the sounds of Victor's begging into the rink, creating a step sequence that's more erotic every time.

Off the ice, he debauches this man anywhere and everywhere he can. Except they still haven't broken that one last virginity Victor holds, not with Yuri's dick anyway. They've used toys on Victor, plugged him while he received oral or gave Yuri the hard poundings he so adores. They’ve made Victor so needy! Every time they're together Victor begs for Yuri's cock.

Now, Yuri has him bent over the boxes in this dirty old closet. Yuri's dick, juicy with the ample moisture collected from the depths of Victor's throat, slicks between toned cheeks. He rocks like a boat unmoored. Every stroke is a promise of penetration. The game of anticipation- the tease of mushroom cap to balloon knot- builds up to a very different kind of orgasm with every roll of his hips.

On the up stroke, Yuri's cock passes over perineum, threatens anus, and he feels every crinkle of quivering skin reach for him, attempt to constrict him. It’s not a complete, enveloping sensation, like Victor’s throat, but the pressure is still there. When Yuri feels his head escape from cheeks into the open air, a shift from heat to cool, pressure to freedom, it’s almost like a penetration. Then he strokes back down to the bottom again, and his cock is in the heat again, in the press of muscly ass again. It’s rhythmic torture, at once just enough pleasure and not nearly enough. 

"Yuri, my Yuri, please,” Victor is nearly sobbing, “Dorogoy, we have to do it. I can't wait anymore. Please?"

"You were the one who loved my dumb idea so much!" Yuri punishes him by pulling away all together. 

Months ago in Hasetsu, before they parted for three weeks, Yuri told Victor about his plan to collect his gambling debts: an elaborate, romantic day he dreamed up for their first penetrative times together. He wasn’t going to mention it, because the surprise was spoiled by the December weather. But the revelation of Victor’s anal virginity made Yuri’s scheme _important_ somehow. He just had to share. Upon hearing the stupid romantic plan, Victor announced it was his _favorite thing._ He refused to give himself to Yuri until they could carry out Yuri’s fantasy in fairer weather. 

It was Victor’s fantasy now, more so than it had ever been Yuri’s. Because Victor’s tortured himself with his own stubbornness for months in St. Petersburg. Wanting Yuri so badly, he sometimes goes out of his way in temptation, but when Yuri is only too happy to oblige, Victor always insists he can wait for the plan.

Now Yuri loves to push Victor until his willpower fails. 

He glides himself extra slow through the taut chasm of Victor’s cheeks. His thumb curls into that delicious pucker, roving in little circles, like Yuri doesn't know where to press, making Victor beg in languages neither of them know. His lover struggles and whimpers. Victor pushes himself up on his hands to look back at Yuri.

"I'm an impulsive idiot!” Victor whines. “You know that! I shouldn't be trusted with making major life decisions!"

Yuri bites his shoulder in rebuke. “Your questionable life choices helped us get together!” He nibbles again, and then lets up. “Not to mention moving in and getting engaged so soon.” He pets down the soft fabric hugging Victor’s spine. “I love your impulsivity and don’t ever want you to change.” He soothes the bite mark with laving kisses. 

Victor pouts as hard as he can. “It’s not my fault you bowled me over with such grandiose romance! Who knew you had that in you?” 

Yuri smirks into his skin. “What did you say in Barcelona? I’m only ever mimicking you?” With a firm press to his prostate, he makes Victor moan so wantonly Yuri has to glance up at the crack of light from the billiard room, looking for movement. When he sees no one there, he does it again. Victor keens and Yuri nips his neck, lips smiling as his teeth pinch Victor's skin. 

  _~~Months ago in Hasetsu~~_

"The beach, Yuri?" Victor asked, incredulous. Yuri was supposed to be showing Victor ‘a glimpse’ of his big, planned surprise for the final half of their bet, something ‘special’ to do with Victor’s deflowering.

" _Our_ beach, Victor." Yuri grinned and ducked his head, embarrassed.

Victor drew Yuri to a stop, looked at the snowy sand beneath his boots, closed his eyes, let the salty wind tousle his bangs, and inhaled the familiar, soothing air. Flashes of Victor’s own Instagram scrolled through his mind, entire streams devoted to tagging Yuri here.

"I can't think of a better place." He turned Yuri in his arms, leaned down for a kiss. Yuri was being sheepish and only let him have a quick peck. "I'm surprised!" Victor cheered, knowing Yuri understood the importance of his sentiment. Yuri brightened and Victor nudged him. "Sex on the beach in December. I never would have guessed!”

Yuri preened, his gloved fingers attempting to tame wisps of hair that escaped his knit cap.

Victor kissed his fuzz-covered crown. “And after the sun set on our tryst, were we to do the walk of shame back home to Yu-topia?"

"I..." Yuri bit his lower lip and looked up at Victor. "I had a planned workaround for that." Yuri's gloved hand emerged from his pocket and handed Victor his proof, documentation of the worst idea he probably ever had.

"A permit!" Victor can't read all of the Japanese, but because it's tourism-related, parts are in English. "They gave you a permit to camp on the beach in December?" 

"Well, it is me, after all." Yuri blushed.

”Ha!” Victor laughed and cheered Yuri’s bravado: "Japan's Treasure!" He chuckled and caressed long fingers from Yuri's hairline to his jaw.

Yuri recoiled and stammered, waving his hands. "I did-didn't mean it like that! You know my family's worked with the tourism board since I was a child, right?"

"Yuu-ri! None of that." He pointed to the date on the permit. "This was last minute, since we got back from Barcelona!"

"Fine." Yuri's smirk ticked up towards self-assured. " _Japan's Treasure_ ," he nodded with a roll of his eyes.

“Wow.” Victor’s puff of breath surged away from them like a cannonball in the cold air. He tried to imagine what Yuri had planned for him. “Sex _and_ camping on our beach! I can’t believe...”

Yuri's blushing grin and sideways eyes cut him off. "You love Yutopia so much," Yuri shrugged and licked his lips. "I couldn't help but bring it here for you."

They crunched through the frozen sand while Yuri described the way he wanted it to be, before the cold snap. The snow didn't quite stick to the beach, but made the surface of the sand freeze so each footfall broke chunks away, revealing softer sand beneath.

Yuri has known this beach his whole life. He knows the secret, silent places of solitude where all the young people go to make out. He knows that many a virginity has been surrendered on this sand, before the non judgmental eyes of the endless sea, the stars a silently approving witness. He wanted Victor’s first time to be like that. He began planning it the night of their dirty wager in Barcelona, even dreamed about it. But he didn't make any calls until the day of their exhibition skate. 

He took Victor to the spot where the tent would've stood. He'd planned a decadent oasis. 

"For the inside," Yuri mused, "I was going for... I don't know, some nomadic chief's tent in those harem doujin? Maybe with a touch of Arabian nights?" 

Victor's heart-shaped grin threatened to break his face.

"How on earth were you going to manage that?" 

"Most of the resorts on the beach keep all their cabana stuff locked up during the winter. I know a guy who could’ve brought a ton of it out here and set up for us."    

His mom would have made them a picnic. They’d come out during the day, like normal people, rather than sexual deviants. He wanted them to have Makkachin, but then there was the issue of getting her back home when it was time for them to be alone. So, he skipped the doggo in his planning. They’d walk and talk. Yuri would take him to all the parts of the beach that held special childhood memories for him. They'd watch the sunset from the pier.

They'd make love on their blankets and cushions, their cozy tent surrounded by an enclave of rocks, shielding them from wind and onlookers, creating a room of privacy. Not that many people would be out on the beach, or even in boats off shore. It was December, after all.

An icy wind kicked up off the ocean and Victor was glad they didn't bring Makkachin today. He couldn't help but ask, "How on earth were we supposed to make love in this?" He gestured to the cold all around them. "I could do it, of course, but I can't imagine you..." 

“It was a warm winter before yesterday!” Yuri defended. Then his chin shot up in that haughty way he had sometimes. “And you underestimate me,” Yuri nudged Victor’s arm with his shoulder. “I had a plan for all that too.” 

The cold would've been terrible outside, but the blankets were dense and piled high. Inside, they would have laid fire-warmed stones in a metal basin near the center of the tent and attached a mylar emergency thermal blanket as a makeshift ceiling, to transfer all the rising heat back down to their bodies and bedding. If all else failed, the campfire outside would've been their refuge, and kissed their exposed skin with flickers of heat.

"And we would've bundled up together," Yuri whispered. Then cleared his throat, squeezing Victor’s hand. "Very tight." 

Victor sighed. “I want that.” He nuzzled Yuri’s temple. “I want all of that for my first time.” Then he snickered, “So long as you can promise me you won’t freeze to death! Rocks and blankets… I don’t know...”

Yuri kissed Victor’s cheek. “I also had a catalytic tent heater, as backup, just in case.”

For the rest of their walk home, Victor asked nuanced questions, wanted specific details, all the while his eyes grew into larger, milkier saucers of adoration. He fell completely in love with every aspect of this idea. So much so, he refused Yuri's many attempts to collect his gambling debts since that day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now Victor is a sloppy, gooey mess. Yuri's been fucking his ass cheeks for ten minutes. Their dark refuge smells less like dusty old cigarettes and more of lube, sweat, and sex.

"Yuuu-ri!" Victor whisper-shouts. "You're being too loud!" Yuri slaps their bodies together as his stamina finally jettisons toward climax. Yuri grinds, harder, deeper, with a longer pause on the aching little asshole. The underside of his cock can _feel_ it pleading for him.

Victor keeps swallowing, every time he tries to say words, he seems to be choking on air instead.

Yuri doesn't care. He's merciless like this. The way Victor is with him on the ice. Yet another round of warm ups? _Hai, Victor!_ Show you that landing for the millionth time? _Hai, Victor!_

Yuri stops moving his hips. "You want me to fuck you?" he growls.

"Yes, please, Yuri!"

"Say, _Da Yuri!_ for me."

"Da Yuri!" 

And his dick jumps when the sound of his name is slurred with Victor's Russian tongue. These weeks in St. Petersburg, Yuri has been prepping Victor for his first time. And it’s not going to be in some dank closet at a pool hall, dammit! But Victor wants him _now_... and their other first times were in equally ridiculous places in Barcelona… and Victor’s the exhibitionist... No.

Instead, Yuri glides his palm, like a slow karate chop, down beneath Victor's cheeks to his upper thighs. He paddles his hand back and forth at the crease where his lover's legs are pressed achingly close together.

"Open up for me." 

"Da, Yuri." Victor breathes, widens his stance, and is rewarded with a thrust of Yuri's cock over the mess of his cheeks, greasing up to his lower back. His breath hitches and he swallows, whimpering "Da, Yuri," again, because he's figured out the connection to "Hai, Victor" on the ice and his heart races at the role reversal. He’s about to start begging in Russian, he knows Yuri loves that.

A loud clack of billiard balls sounds outside when someone breaks. People cheer or grumble. The smell of smoke wafts into their little lover’s hideaway. They are not alone anymore.

They stand very still for a few moments, listen to the muffled chatter and banter. 

By the time they’re both confident no one is aware of their presence, the lube between Victor's cheeks is drying in sticky patches. Yuri abandons the area for greener, smoother pastures, where he doesn't have to feel that sudden absence, the cool air, the anti-penetration.

Yuri pulls the ever-present travel lube from Victor's pocket and slicks his whole palm, running the hand between Victor's thighs. His length slides lazy between his coach’s loins. He  grips the outside of Victor's thick upper legs and presses inward, squeezing his idol's inner thighs around his dick. Fuck. This isn't going to last long.

Victor gets the idea and clenches, gripping, but not too hard, creating walls of dense muscles as opposed to the granite his thighs might become if he _really_ flexed.

Damn, Victor is so good at gripping him just right.Yuri thrusts into the lubed channel of meaty thighs, losing himself. Using Victor’s skater body like this is Yuri’s favorite, since Victor decided to wait for more. Fucking beneath Victor’s genitals, with every pound, rocking his body forward, the coach's cock leaps and thumps his lower belly and Yuri loves the sound. When Victor's moans get too loud, Yuri slaps a hand over his mouth. 

He looks up at the beam of light, dancing with swirls of dust, their connection to the world outside this room. He thinks of the other bar patrons only a few yards away playing pool. He doesn't stop thrusting, he doesn't take his hand away from Victor's mouth. Yuri's mind flashes to something worse than one of the outsiders barging in and snapping pictures. What if one of them decides to prank us and lock the door from the outside? He leans down over Victor, pressing close, with shallower, quieter thrusts. He and Victor trapped in here for who knows how long. And the only way out would be admitting to the owners, who'd probably have to come unlock the door, why they were in here in the first place. Not that the smell in here wouldn't be a tell-all.

"Yuri?" Victor whispers against his palm. 

There's another clack of the cue and the impressive clatter of a sunk ball hitting others in its same pocket.

"Shhh," Yuri instructs, removing himself from between Victor's thighs, slowly, carefully. He squeezes his base, trying to tame further arousal. "If we come like this, there's nothing for us to clean up the floor, the boxes..." Yuri whispers. He eases his hand away from Victor's lips, which follow his fingers with yearning kisses as they retreat. 

Victor whines, quiet and pitiful. His erection aches, untouched with the exception of Yuri's thrusting beneath his balls and the stem of his shaft. Oh god. Victor's knees are shaking, his thighs pressing and pulsing, wanting Yuri back. He exhales and turns around to face the man who's left him longing. 

"Swallow each other?" He offers, pressing his hardness against Yuri's, as neither of them have pulled up their pants yet. An exhale punches from Yuri’s throat. Victor smirks and grinds their shafts together once, twice, to hear Yuri’s pitched intake of breath. Then he moves to bend down. But Yuri stops him, a hand gripping his shoulder.

Yuri smiles and shakes his head, kissing Victor's cheek. "I promise to give us both an epic release at home, Takara." 

They wait, kissing, petting, loving each other, until the billiard room seems temporarily empty, the last couple gone to the bar for more drinks.

Yuri makes a motion to leave. Victor grabs his elbow. 

“Please, please, Yuri, I don’t want to… I don’t want to go back home… I don’t want my first time to be in some boring, ordinary, way.” He tries to stop there, but he’s so excited, so turned on, so needy. The words tumble out. “I want something as explosive as your sex on the beach idea! Please. My first bottoming to be as public as my first fingering, my first time with you in the shower, please… plez…dorogoy?” 

Yuri only has so much resolve. 

“Against the wall.” He commands. 

Yuri positions them further away from the door, behind a taller stack of boxes and junk, to hide their lower bodies. Should the door open, people would be able to guess what they were doing, they’d know, but no one would see their joining, that would be hidden. The distance and obstructions would give them time to react and cover up before phones came out. Scandalous pics, maybe, if they were unlucky, but nothing pornographic.

“Face to face.” Yuri orders. And he won’t budge on that. Victor whispers that it'll be easier with their height difference if he just turns around. Nope, Yuri's not doing this any other way. “If you can plant your feet on something...” They look around for options. Yuri chuckles. “We should be so much more careful in the future, Victor.”

Victor nods, promising anything, whatever Yuri wants. He needs this so much, has wanted him so long. He hikes a leg up Yuri’s thigh. Yuri grips it, hoists him up effortlessly and _bohze moi_ Victor always forgets how strong Yuri is! That pole dancing prowess translates into impressive upper body strength and Victor trembles when his palm caresses Yuri’s flexing bicep. The muscle is a smooth stone, hard and sturdy, beneath the soft fabric of the expensive shirt. Victor’s groin spasms, desperate to force itself onto Yuri’s body.

Yuri holds him close now, lifting him against the wall, supporting his weight just enough, while Victor braces one foot on a nearby table. Yuri whispers some soft nothing. Victor can't focus on the words, not while his cheeks are spread apart in two powerful hands, three lubed fingers coaxing into him. While Yuri stretches and plays inside, he also grinds them together. Victor swallows, clenching his eyes against the swell of emotions, the urgency of his need. Then he gasps as Yuri lines up his head, teasing Victor again as he practices with the angle.

"I… I can’t last much longer," Yuri confesses, "if you want it to happen _now,_ like this, I’m just going to come inside you, okay? I won’t be thrusting or… fu…” He’s already losing himself over the edge as he aligns the tip of his cock with Victor’s begging, needy, slippery…

“Yes, Yuri, yes!”

Yuri slips inside, his head all the way in and he grips the base of his shaft to stop from coming on the spot. Victor goes very still, very quiet, his body clenches on Yuri. Fingers, limbs, and anus all in a full-body cling, gripping as tightly as Yuri has ever felt Victor embrace him.

“Ta-“ Yuri swallows, shivering, “Takara?” 

Victor nods rapidly against the cords of Yuri’s neck and bites his shoulder through his shirt, nodding harder. Yuri releases the base of himself, feeling the new, tight heat of Victor as he slowly pushes further up. It was a mistake to let go, without the restraint of his fist, Yuri feels the surge, Victor's so moist and hot and open! The gush builds, flowing up from his sack to his head and he can’t stop it… he can’t- _he’s barely half way in... Baka!_

Victor knows that twitch of Yuri’s cock. Just before it happens, Victor has enough time to recognize the feeling of Yuri’s imminent orgasm _inside him_ , that familiar quiver, and he chokes out a laugh as he feels the heat spurt from Yuri. The split-second knowing of it, the recognition in his heart, sets Victor off. All at once he’s quaking and bucking and staining Yuri’s stomach through his partially open shirt. His coming is quick, dirty, and perfect, just like Yuri’s.

Yuri and Victor cling to one another. They are still joined, rasping breaths that sound and feel like dying. Their chests burn, and they feel each other’s pained heat, through naked pectorals that shudder with mutual exertion and stick to one another with sweat. Their bodies seem to know how the men must not part in this moment, as each inhale and exhale seems to bring them closer, tighter. Yuri feels Victor smile, silly and wet, into his shoulder. Yuri huffs a small chuckle. This really just happened.

Then Yuri begins to soften. Victor’s body naturally ejects him, a smooth slip and it’s over. He’s gone.

Victor gasps. 

His breathing goes erratic. He wants Yuri back inside. Now. It feels like losing him. It was so sudden and over as suddenly! 

“Shhhh,” Yuri whispers. “Shhhh, Vitya, Takara,” and his breath transforms into a lulling serenade of his own tongue. Words Victor doesn’t understand are somehow more soothing, and Victor comes down from the teetering edges of loss. Yuri relaxes just enough to let Victor’s legs down until his feet touch the floor. Victor slouches low against the wall, like he may collapse, but Yuri braces him, continues holding him. The Japanese intonations end with, “I’m here. I love you and I'm here.” 

One hand smooths up Victor’s side to cradle his face, fingers fanning his cheekbone, the gesture of their love, the touch Yuri promised would always be special.

Victor swallows. His skin starts to feel like his own. At last, he’s no longer a part of Yuri and aching without him inside. Once more, he can smile. He raises a hand to his own cheek, grips Yuri's fingers that continue to cup his cheek. He squeezes, an affirmation that he's okay.

Yuri laughs, a sweet shuddering sound. Victor looks up at him, starts to inch himself up the wall, until they’re eye level again. He bites his lip and without looking down, uses his free hand to tuck Yuri back into the fly of his black briefs. Yuri grins and thanks him with a reverent “arigato.”

When Yuri’s confident Victor can hold himself upright, he bends down to grab Victor’s pants and lift one foot at a time back into them. Yuri redresses Victor with a lover’s touch and Victor warms all over, blinking away unspent tears which must have lingered in his eyes this whole time.

“Thank you.” Victor rasps. He is so grateful, for everything. He doesn’t just mean the pants. 

Yuri knows. Yuri gets it. “Hmmm,” he hums a smile of acknowledgement when they’re face to face again, eyes seeing as much as they can in the dim light. 

“We’ll save the rest for the beach.” Yuri smiles, a promise. 

Victor laughs, hoarse and weak. “I don’t know if I can take anymore.”

Yuri looks concerned, eyebrows scrunching and eyes worrying side to side. “Victor? Are you hurt?” 

“No!” His dopey smile is moist and wide. “Nope. Not a bit!” 

He sounds proud of himself in that goofy way he gets when he’s done the simplest things. Victor wears this same smile when he remembers to refill a toilet paper roll _before_ using the bathroom, or when he goes to a store and actually gets the one thing he went there for, instead of buying 20 other things and forgetting the one. It's Victor's _look at me, Yuri, I'm a grown up!_ face. And considering what they've just done, it's impossibly endearing and adorable. 

So adorable that when they close the door of the storage room, their secrets safe inside, Yuri leans Victor back against it, soft and firm at once, and kisses him, closed-lipped and loving, for several long moments.

Victor exhales as they part, “I can’t wait for the beach.”

Covering their stains of shame beneath heavy coats, the pair makes their way up front to pay their bar tab. If their afterglow is obvious, the bartender and other patrons make very little note of it. Yuri marvels at his return to big city life. Here, they exit the bar into the cold night air without so much as a snicker from anyone around them. 

Back home, he can only imagine a troupe of celebrating fans waiting outside if they’d done _what they just did_ in the storage closet of any bar in Hasetsu. Well, they would’ve been kicked out before they did it, but still. Everyone would have known, and a very big deal would have been made of the event, if in the most respectful and courteous ways possible. He pictures shop owners nodding proudly and old women in the street beaming with knowing smiles. He heats all over at these visions, despite the biting wind trying to render his layers meaningless.

Their familiar stroll to the apartment is a bit stilted at first, and Yuri wonders if Victor’s gait is different because he’s clenching his ass. After a few more feet, he’s bold enough to tilt his mouth up near Victor’s ear and whisper: 

“Do you like the way it feels to try and hold me inside as you walk?” 

Victor tenses up and Yuri watches the flush sail down beneath his scarf. Then Victor’s arm latches around Yuri’s waist, hugging their sides together. He begins walking again, Yuri stumbling along with his shorter legs until he falls in step. Victor smirks down at him, “Honestly, I thought I’d feel more, like a gooeyness or a fullness," he taps his lips, pondering, "maybe a stickiness inside?”

Yuri puffs a breath of air and watches it dissipate. “Perhaps when we’re able to go longer.”

“Hush, detka. I won’t hear it. You were perfect, exactly what I wanted.” 

“You wanted a long, aimless night of sex to the sound of the ocean! Not… whatever _that_ just was!” 

“No beating yourself up! You finally caved to my begging after all this time. I’m impressed with your resolve, Yurachka.” Victor squeezes the arm around his midsection. “Honestly, I thought you’d break weeks ago, back at the movie theater!” 

Yuri stops dead and buries his face in his hands. The memory of Victor straddling him, undoing his fly, in the back row of a fairly crowded, private filmhouse showing of… was it _The Big Sick?_ It was! He looks up at his fiance, exasperated, “And during one of the hospital scenes, too, Victor! Honestly!” 

Victor’s laughter makes beautiful patterns in the wind. Yuri's eyes follow the trails as they dissolve away.

Victor feels a wetness leak out of him, further soiling his tiny bikini briefs. “Oh!” He stops. Yuri turns, sees his expression, and grins. Victor winks at him, “I think I lost you!”

Yuri laughs, “Not for long.” 

When they return home, they book plane tickets to Hasetsu. The next morning, Victor makes slow, sleepy love to Yuri after the alarm goes off far too early for either of them. Before practice, Yuri makes the same series of phone calls he made in December. It’ll cost money to “borrow” cabana equipment in the early spring, as the resorts are starting to set up again, but Yuri is okay with the extra expense.

Victor can’t even watch Yuri’s Eros practice today. He forces Yuri to skip it and focus on his FS jumps. When Yuri shouts “Hai, Victor!” a chill runs down both their spines. Later, Victor wants so badly to applaud an excellent landing with an exuberant “Da, Yuri!” but thinks better of it, just in time. 

His mouth pops closed, but there’s no hiding Victor’s blush. 


	10. Beach Bums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither Victor nor Yuri have ever had sex on the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's still December 14th where I live.  
> That means this last chapter of "Your Brain on Ice" is posted _one year to the day_ after I posted my very first YOI fanfic, the first in this series, Dance Off Revisited. And believe it or not, there are whole swaths of this chapter that were written in January. Because I always write the ending first, and then write my way to it. But a ton happened with this fic between January and today, so I added another 7k words to this chapter, making it the longest in the series (I think!) at over 9k words. 
> 
> Can I express how much I love you, yes you, the person reading this word, right now? You. The unique, beautiful you that you are. Thank you for reading this. Thank you for your kudos and comments that kept me going for _an entire year_. Thank you to this fandom, this show that changed my life, and of course its creators, staff, voice actors, everyone who has anything to do with Yuri on Ice, including all the fan artists and writers whose work I've adored all year long. Thank you. 
> 
> Thank you, Noms, for finding me in this fandom and loving me as much as I love you.  
> Thank you, PickleWeasel, for beta-ing this chapter for me.

“It’s finally happening!” Victor dances in place when he sees the cabana standing large and beautiful, right where Yuri said it would be. The enclave of boulders protects them from the sea and wind. “I can’t believe it’s real! Just like you said!” He spins Yuri into a hug and kisses all over his face. Victor then insists on a selfie, extends his arm high overhead and Yuri winces at how extravagant they look with their tent in the background and these silly clothes. 

”Victor, don’t post that!” He snatches the phone for a closer look.

The image is like bad Hollywood. Their outfits are color-complementary and too expensive, because Victor picked them out and Yuri couldn’t say no. They’re both dressed in swim trunks (Victor’s are too small and tight to qualify as _trunks_ ) and long sleeve, knit beach sweaters, with pouches above their bellies to warm their hands, and hoods hanging behind their necks. Yuri thinks they look like hipster surfers, or stoners posing as surfers. But it’s such a good look on Victor, with his windswept hair and pink cheeks! And the sweaters were a good thought. The air is cooler than Yuri would’ve liked, but the sun is hot. When a wave sprays his knees after hitting a small rock, the water’s not too cold. 

Yuri won’t allow Victor to dash into the tent right away. Putting his foot down, with an unsatisfying, silent stomp in the sand, Yuri insists: 

“Let the inside be a final surprise.” He lifts a hand to turn Victor’s face away from the thick-curtained doors. The flaps tease little glimmers of shiny surfaces within. Victor’s eyes sparkle with possibility as Yuri drags him a few steps away. “Trust me. Once you’re in there, you won’t want to leave,” he says with a peck on Victor’s lips. 

Yuri appeases Victor by reluctantly agreeing to go for a swim. He folds each of their sweaters and bundles them safely in a separate beach bag. Victor bounds into the ocean, he ducks beneath a wave, swift and smooth, and comes up smiling with glistening wet hair. Yuri walks boldly into the surf; the water is bracing at first, but comfortable once he’s submerged and constantly moving. Not that he can focus on his own body at the moment. Victor dances through the waves, long legs and arms flowing with the tide itself. Yuri marvels. Victor is as graceful in liquid water as on its frozen surface. After a brief bout of horsing around and splashing, the pair lay back into the sea to relax.

A gust of wind sends chills over Yuri’s exposed torso. Good thing he brought all the various heating options. After several moments clearing his mind, focusing on the submerged sounds gurgling past his ears, sloshing to and fro, Yuri opens his eyes and turns his head. The small choppy waves obscure Victor’s silver hair from this angle and Yuri puts his feet down to stand up and find Victor again. He's lounged out on his back, limbs spread wide, floating with his eyes closed and a wearing a soft, comfortable smile. The upturn at the corner of his lips is so slight you might miss it. Yuri feels his heart thrum, plucked like a chord. A pair of seagulls argue overhead. Yuri glides into the water, trying to get closer to Victor without disturbing his serenity. 

Victor lays in languid darkness. The waves bob him like a buoy, rolling leisurely from head to foot, head to foot. He'd stay like this all day if the sun weren't already threatening his cheeks and the tip of his nose with a stinging discomfort. He can't hear Yuri anymore, or anything, really, except a water-muffled pair of seagulls screeching. He wonders if Yuri can tell he's worn his favorite plug all day. The cold water flowing around his cheeks tightens his package and makes his ass involuntarily clench. Then he flexes on purpose, moving the toy softly inside, and his dick responds. Victor inhales, not quite a gasp. Sweet anticipation tickles all over his skin. The waves lap over his limbs like his lover’s tongue. He whispers Yuri's name in a blissful sigh, imagining.

"Yes, Vitya?" Yuri's voice answers, so close it shocks Victor's eyes open and sends him splashing inelegantly upright. 

Victor sputters water that tried to get down his throat.

“Should we put on some sunblock?” Yuri asks, definitely smirking. “You look a little red, takara.” He taps Victor’s blushing cheek. 

Victor splashes him. Yuri attempts to start a water fight, but they’re overcome by a larger wave that sweeps them both closer to the shore. Two wet heads emerge to whip dripping hair out of their eyes, laughing and pedaling their feet at one another. They take the ocean’s cue and stand up, trudging toward the dry shore.

Light catches Yuri’s eye. He finds the reflection glints from the surface of beads of water decorating Victor’s skin. Yuri stops and stares at the pattern, and the pearlescent droplets don’t move for a second, like they’re affixed to sheer fabric. Victor reaches for a towel. 

“No no, don’t towel off yet!” Yuri waves his hands at Victor and shoos the towel away before he can use it. “Look! If you do a new costume this year, or any of your programs are water themed, you should get a beaded top that clings to you and looks like water droplets.” He ghosts his hand over the skin where a soft swirl of beaded water remains. “Look at the way they make you glisten in the light.”

Victor looks down at himself and smiles. “So. My fiancé is checking out my wet naked chest for no other reason than to come up with new costumes?”

“No! No! I… didn’t mean… Victor! Come on!” Yuri turns his back and huffs.

Victor shushes him and wraps the towel around them both. Chuckling, he purrs in Yuri’s ear, “I know, detka.”

Yuri tries to elbow him, but the angle is wrong.

Victor feels Yuri shivering and pulls him down to the dense beach mat. He wraps his limbs around Yuri from behind and swaths him in an onsen towel, plush and smelling of sulfur and his family’s homemade detergent. Victor considers taking some of these towels to St. Petersburg, just to keep the soothing, familiar scent close. He rubs the towel in rapid scrubby bursts up and down Yuri’s arms. Yuri leans back into this attention, a sigh punching out of his throat. The sound pinches the muscles of Victor’s groin, twitching his inner thighs. 

Yuri feels the flex of his lover’s lap. His belly tenses, responsive and eager. Then, as if in reproach to the very idea of sexual activities on an empty stomach, his tummy rumbles. Victor chuckles, trying to hug around Yuri’s middle, but Yuri stands, making a bashful retreat.

Yuri ducks between the flaps of the tent, while Victor pretends not to peek at the opulence within. He doesn't get too much of a look, as Yuri is back out, carrying what appears to be a large box wrapped in decorative furoshiki cloth. Victor knows what this is and kneels on their beach mat, trying not to shimmy with excitement. In all his time in Japan, he has yet to enjoy a meal served this way. During training, he and Yuri usually had smaller, single bento boxes for lunch, wrapped in a simpler cloth. He missed Yu-Topia’s famous Osechi-ryōri for New Year’s, because he was already back in St. Petersburg. Victor recognizes the tie on top of this box, a knot of cloth that looks like a four-petaled flower, as unmistakably Hiroko’s.

“What is that called again?” Victor asks, pointing to the flower tie and stilling Yuri’s hand after he reverently sets the box between them.

Yuri smiles, “Yotsu Musubi.” He idly plucks at one of the petaled corners of cloth. “It’s not that special.” But the fondness in Yuri’s voice and the smile while he ducks his chin suggest otherwise. Every little detail of any meal Hiroko creates for her family is special and Victor’s sternum tightens, honored to be included among her loved ones.

Just as Victor suspected, when Yuri unties the cloth he reveals a three-tiered jubako. Ornate golden tree branches traverse the box’s black lacquered wood, curling towards an unseen sun. Pink petals flow around the corners and edges of the box, a painted breeze only blows the flowers, but not the gilded leaves. Yuri sets the perfect, smooth square lid aside, revealing a bright interior. Meal presentation in a tiered jubako is truly special. Hiroko divided the layers into meal portions and snacks, the segments within each tray containing separate, smaller dishes. Each little dish and the food it contains is an ornate show piece all its own. As Yuri opens the layers, the artistry reminds Victor of a Tsarina's jewelry box, only this is a far more elegant, functional beauty. 

Victor appropriately gushes over every detail, and Yuri's heart soars. Using this set, even though it’s not Yu-Topia’s finest, stirs so much nostalgia for Yuri. This meal, more so than all the others they’ve shared, makes Victor _family_. 

Victor, ever the mind reader, takes Yuri’s hand, squeezes his fingers. “I love you,” he says like any other time, like nothing special.

Yuri feels dumbly like he might get misty-eyed and nods his head rapidly to shake away the silly notion. “I love you too,” he laughs, breathy and warm.

Victor releases him and picks up his chopsticks. 

"This is wonderful, Yuri.” He rotates one of the dishes. “I didn't know your mother was such an artist!" 

Yuri’s heart must be blushing, for the way he feels warmth spread through his chest. It tingles, the happiness rising up to his face, almost like chills. His grin is uncontrollable, his lips turning up at the corners, riding the current of soft feels in his throat.

”Let’s eat, Takara.” 

Victor takes Yuri’s instruction on eating the portions within each tier in a precise order. There is two of everything. And more than a couple of pieces have been crafted into adorable Makkachin faces. 

“He’s with us after all!” Victor croons, delighted as he eats an entire Makka in one mouthful. 

The sea breeze ruffles Yuri’s hair as he sips chilled tea from a cup extracted from his mother’s well-packaged tea set. He’s so content, he realizes. Beside him, Victor hums and moans, enjoying the food on an erotic level. Everything is perfect.

Yuri’s head bully distrusts such contentment. Uh-oh. The day is _too_ perfect so far, isn’t it?

Somehow, today will be screwed up. So much can still go wrong! It’s impossible to be so giddy for hours on end. Correction, it is _exhausting_ to be so giddy for hours on end. He'd expected to open the jubako and find the food ruined or spoiled in some way. He’d expected to get sunburned, and he supposes that is still within the realm of possibility. They never applied sunscreen, like he’d asked. 

"Yurachka? You're overthinking." Victor chides. "Are you waiting for something to go terribly wrong today?" 

Yuri blanches and swallows. "How could you tell?" He fidgets with the dangling hood ties that drape over his chest from the neck of his sweater. 

"You're going to fray those, detka," Victor smiles. Yuri drops his hands to his lap. Victor grabs one, his fingers give Yuri’s a squeeze. "I'm here with you, Yuri. I've been second-guessing too, a little bit." He laughs. "I mean... what if I get a tear?!" 

Yuri's eyes go buggy and he rears his head back so hard his glasses tip just a bit down his nose. "Victor!" He gasps. "I hadn't even thought of that! We need a first aid kit!" His eyes dart around as if trying to remember the location of the nearest pharmacy. 

When Victor reaches for him, in an attempt to quell any rising panic, Yuri's smile kicks up at the corners. His eyes flash a bit of mirth. Victor pulls back. "You're faking a freak out?!" He crosses his arms and gives a hearty pout. "Yuuu-ri! Not nice! What if I actually am worried about that?" 

"Are you?" 

Victor smiles. "Not really. I mean, I thought about it. The internet is a scary place when it comes to penetrative sex, you know?"

A revulsion comes over Yuri. "Yeah, I know." Then he smiles. "Well... either scary or..." he toes Victor’s leg. “Very enticing?" 

Victor winks. He clenches around his plug, considers telling Yuri just _how_ ready he really is. 

Yuri glances over their collective shoulders to the tent. 

"Shall we?" Victor reaches his limbs around Yuri's body, warming him in every way. 

"I was hoping to watch the sunset with you." Yuri swallows, flushes and fidgets. "Like I said, once we go in there, we're not coming out." 

Victor snorts at the word choice and Yuri elbows him. "Ahem. Until we're, um, _done_."

Victor shimmies his butt, lap shifting behind Yuri's hips, deliberately trying to wag his tail like an excited puppy. Yuri hugs Victor's knees, drawing them over his body, a kind of Victor clam shell. He loves how comfy and warm he always feels in Victor’s embrace, no matter the configuration of their bodies. 

Victor rests his chin on Yuri's crown, his body settling comfortably around his Yuri pillow. He reaches for another helping from the third tier of the jubako. The sun and the wind have dried his damp skin. His mind is gooey and contemplative, he feels heady and buzzed, even though he hasn’t had a drop of booze. As he chews, Victor looks out at the horizon. Sunset is probably another hour away. He clears his throat. 

“Hmm?” Yuri nuzzles. 

“Shower with me?” Victor squeezes him. 

They reminisce about their first summer on this beach as sand and grit sloughs from their bodies under the comforting jets of water. Victor tells Yuri how badly he yearned to kiss him the last time they showered here together.

“You were finally loosening up around me,” Victor coos. He towels his hair as he slides to Yuri’s side of the shower.

Yuri winces. He doesn’t hate those memories, but they’re not his favorite either. “We should have kissed.” He says. “The tension that day was...” His face goes red and he shakes out his hair to hide it, water droplets flying everywhere. 

“I’m glad we didn’t.” Victor’s smile is sad, but fond. He hands Yuri his glasses. “I wouldn’t trade the Cup of China for anything.” 

They bundle up in their hooded sweaters and walk hand in hand for a few miles down the beach. Yuri tells Victor stories about his childhood on the ocean. How he was afraid of learning to swim for a while, until Mari and her friends had a birthday party at the beach and he wanted to go out further in the water like they did.

As the sky dims, they cuddle and snuggle in their secret place, away from the dozens of other lovers watching the same romance presented by nature. They imagine a pairs skate: the sweet, pining moon chasing the glorious sun below the horizon in her lustful shame. 

“Maybe for our next GPF exhibition?” Victor smiles, choreography and costumes gliding behind his eyes. Yuri laughs. Twilight makes Yuri's features stand out, seem sharper, and Victor finds himself staring at the brilliant contours of his lover’s face. 

Yuri catches Victor staring in his periphery, but pretends not to notice. When Victor looks back at the horizon, Yuri takes his turn. He loves how the light sets individual strands of Victor’s hair aflame. The sunset’s blazing oranges, reds and purples, fading to soft lavenders and yellows, reflect the golden streaks in Victor's otherwise silver hair. 

Their tent shines; flickering light wavers like a beacon on the graying beach. Victor is worried Yuri left candles burning in there for hours while they walked and talked. Yuri shushes him. 

“They’re battery operated candles, but they flicker like real ones.” He smiles then hastily adds, “There’s real ones in there too!” Lest Victor think the fake ones are cheesy. “I just haven’t lit them.” 

They pause before opening the curtained doors. Victor kisses Yuri, lucious and savory slow. 

“Go on.” Yuri smiles.

Victor gapes when he opens the heavy hanging door of their tent. Yuri drinks in the shock on his extravagant fiance’s face. The inside is better than Yuri thought it would be. Finally, Yuri Katsuki has proven he can be just as opulent as his celebrity lover! Yuri suddenly has an image of their glistening, over-the-top wedding flash before his eyes. He never wanted a big, showy ceremony, but apparently he’s on board for all kinds of nonsense these days. 

“Where did all of this come from?” Victor’s voice sounds thin and soft. 

Yuri cringes to think of the favors he’s going to owe his friend. Worth it. Anything to overwhelm Victor’s expectations. 

"Yuri, I... I don't even know what I'm looking at!" 

"For lack of a better word," Yuri gestures to the interior furnishings, "this is glamping." 

Victor eyes him with utter incomprehension. 

"Glamorous camping." Yuri clarifies, looking very much the hot professor as he adjusts his glasses for no reason. "Have you never heard of it, Victor? In all your photo shoots they didn't put you in one of these set ups?" 

"I would've remembered something like this. You brought a posh honeymoon suite onto _our_ beach, Yuri!" He dances from foot to foot. "I'm not going to lie, I was excited, but I pictured plush beach lounge chairs pushed together into a bed-like shape." 

"Like those twin beds in Barcelona?" Yuri laughs. "No falling between the cushions for us while I..." He flushes. "G-get between your cushions!"

“Ha!” Victor swoops him into long arms. "I love you so much!" 

Yuri laughs and Victor resumes fawning with Yuri trapped in his arms.

The bed in the center is a Victor Nikiforov sized bed. It takes up most of the interior—most of the floor. Victor thinks _the bed is the floor!_ and loves it. The entire interior is beyond chic, so beautiful it hurts Victor's heart. Gold and ivory are the dominant colors, everything is heavenly, like the inside of a cloud when sunrise shines through it. The bedding is such a creamy ivory it should be mixed into a decadent dessert or perhaps swirled artfully atop an espresso. The carpets—yes, furry shaggy carpets on the faux floor—are the same color and texture as Makkachin! 

“Did you pluck this interior from my daydreams, Yuri?” 

This 'tent' (from the inside, tent feels like the wrong word) is Victor's secret, soft identity made habitat. If his apartment is for photoshoots and press clippings, this tent is the part of himself that’s just for Yuri. And before Victor knows it, he’s redecorating their St. Petersburg bedroom in his mind’s eye.

Yuri is almost afraid to touch anything. He's clean from the shower, but no one is clean enough to touch these furnishings. He knows he paid for this stuff, he knows what he came here to do (his mind shivers imagining what this room will look like tomorrow), but for the moment, everything seems so splendid, he’s sure to spoil it with his sandy shoes and greasy hands. Maybe if he takes another shower?

Victor, of course, dives in. He falls forward and lands mostly on the bed, calves and ankles dangled out, toes wiggling in the carpet. He lays still for a second, suspended in the pleasurable disbelief that he could ever be so lucky to meet and marry a man like Yuri. Who else would create a sex sanctuary so elaborate and special? Will the rest of his life be filled with such memories as this? He notices Yuri is lingering in the entry and snaps out of his own mind. 

"This is the softest thing I've ever laid on!" Victor exclaims and proceeds to burrow and roll and cuddle his body in the bedding. His toes grip, tug, and pull at the carpet's curls. Yuri smiles. _He's such a big kid._ Yuri flops down beside him. Victor scooches his hips until their bodies are touching and he finds Yuri's adjacent foot with his own. He pushes Yuri's toes into the carpet. "Doesn't it remind you of Makkachin?" 

Yuri's eyes close behind his glasses, his smile growing. "Why do you think I picked it?"

"I can't believe you designed everything in here!" Victor sings. 

"Really, I just picked the carpet, some of the accessories, told them the color scheme I wanted. And they had a few to choose from, you know? It wasn't like... me going to a massive registry and selecting every detail. I didn't have time for something like that." 

Yuri's voice is hushed, his fingers swirl in the comforter beneath them. For a moment, they listen to the ocean, a constant companion gushing and rolling outside. The walls and doors of their tent sway and flap in time with the sea wind. There is no other sound quite like this and Victor closes his eyes. He grabs Yuri's hand, pulls the knuckles to his lips and kisses each one. When Yuri's brown eyes peek up over his blue frames Victor meets them and whispers:

"Thank you." 

His lips work their way over each of Yuri's fingers. He'll never be able to thank Yuri enough. 

Yuri's breath catches, he opens his mouth to say anything to Victor... anything at all about how Victor doesn't need to thank him. How this, like the rings, like _everything_ is to show his gratitude for Victor. Instead of speaking, he leans forward and kisses Victor's lips. He lingers, barely there, pressing but hardly moving, and chases when Victor starts to break the kiss. 

Victor smiles and leans back in. Yuri’s lips can capture him as long as they want! His heart begins to swell, his breath quickening and skin humming. 

"Yuri." 

When the name escapes on a breath, its owner takes the sweet moment of Victor's parted lips and licks his tongue between them. Victor exhales. The last quiet minutes of decency are behind them. Victor surges forward, reaches over Yuri's body; his hand slides to the small of Yuri's back, fingers fanning. The tip of his long, swift middle finger finds its way beneath the band of Yuri's trunks and Yuri clenches. Victor immediately takes this as a challenge. 

His fingertips all thrust beneath the elastic at once, his knuckles craning to push the fabric away. The rest of his hand follows its leader until the whole troop of fingers clamp Yuri’s cheek. Victor smooths his palm over his favorite soft mound of flesh on the planet. Yuri shifts his crack away from Victor, who wasn't heading that way so soon, thank you. He's too busy petting this perfect cheek, then squeezing. Victor loves the way Yuri squirms like this. He loves dominant Eros Yuri, but this version, wriggling and whining, it does something to Victor's dick. Withdrawing his hand, he rolls Yuri beneath him.

“Let me have you first, dorogoy, please?” Victor kisses the words into Yuri’s neck. Yuri nods with enthusiasm, because he was just about to make the very same request. 

“That was part of the original bet, wasn’t it?” Yuri teases and pedals his knees between Victor’s, pelvis squirming with hungry readiness. 

After rapid kisses, punctuated by clothes removal, when Victor reaches between Yuri’s legs, hand cupping and rolling the soft balls, his knuckles hit something hard. Yuri's body hitches when Victor's fingertips investigate the- 

"Plug!? Yuu-ri!" And Victor dives for his face, kissing his mouth, lapping between Yuri's lips as his fingers rock the end of the plug. Yuri wheezes in the back of his throat and Victor's tongue chases the sound. His lean arm clasps around Yuri's waist. He catches Yuri when his spine curves off the bed after Victor applies a tilt of the toy’s base, angled just right. He pulls Yuri close, forcing that bow of his back to remain arched, and manipulates the toy again and again. 

Finally, Yuri braces both hands on Victor's shoulders and shoves him until he can see his face. "Vitya! Enough!" Yuri's voice is aching, rasped and high. "Take it out and fill me properly, takara, please!" 

Victor leans back and watches as he dislodges the toy. He strokes himself with lube to the tantalizing sight of Yuri's red, plush insides swelling around the flare, followed by a wet kiss goodbye to the soft, rounded tip. Victor's cock reaches to replace the emptiness, the sheath of his foreskin receding slightly when he feels the same kiss puckering upon his head. 

"Victor." Yuri exhales, pressing his hips so his body starts to take Victor in. 

One thrust and they're together. They smile for each other. The first moment of connection is always so blissful, they get silly with it every time. Yuri's smile is so radiant, Victor's reaction so awed. An embarrassed laugh shudders beneath Victor's body and around his cock. Yuri's thighs latch onto his hips, and Yuri rolls himself on top without disjoining them. 

He fucks himself so damn beautifully. 

Victor's eyes surrender a moment to darkness behind his lids. But the sweet sounds and the deep swell of Yuri _frenzied, flawless Yuri_ ride Victor back to waking consciousness. When he opens his eyes, his line of sight is full of Yuri's limp dick bouncing. Victor reaches for it. He loves it. He loves that Yuri is no longer ashamed of his body in sex. Yuri doesn't even flinch when Victor palms his entire package, fingers rolling and caressing his sack, thumb stroking over and around the soft length. Where once Yuri might get flustered, now his breathing grows louder, hungrier. 

Yuri's tongue peeks out between his open teeth to rest on his bottom lip as he pants. He rides hard, fast, rocking back and forth, even as he glides up and down, catching every inch of Victor's shaft with muscles that press and sponge, absorbing the sweet shock of intrusion. Victor's dick burns hot and wet, coursing with blood he _feels_ throbbing in his own veins and in the tight walls inside of Yuri. Their very essence pulses in tandem and the unity is overpowering, intoxicating, desperate. 

They make love to the serenade of cascading waves.

Yuri loses his rhythm and Victor's knees bend upwards so that each thigh supports the warm rub of a round cheek that grinds and rolls. When Yuri becomes too erratic, Victor pushes with strong thighs, rocking that ass just as he wants, and Yuri gives in. He lays back, draping his sweaty spine over Victor's bent legs, lounging on the seat Victor provides. Victor thrusts hard beneath him, chasing the aggressive energy Yuri engaged. 

Yuri's pink, wet mouth hangs further open, breaths rasping. Victor fixates on the round shape of those lips. His railing has opened Yuri at both ends, another hole needing to be filled. He reaches up and curves a long finger over Yuri's tongue, which the man _heaven help him_ latches onto, sucks, slurps, and surrounds with unquenchable thirst. 

Before they finish, when their bodies drive each other mercilessly toward the end, shouts of pleasure punch from each of their guts, every bit as loud as they are in St. Petersburg. This refuge feels equally private, just as much _theirs_. 

Afterward, Victor looks up through the mesh of the cabana's ceiling, feeling the rush of salty air from the occasional flaps of the door. This was always Victor’s favorite place in Japan, this beach. Now, with Yuri snuggled in beside him, spent and sated and elated, it's his favorite place in the world. They've filled the tent with their sex. When he glances around, the lush assortment of pillows, blankets, towels, looks less romantic now and more like a Persian harem tent from some cheesy sexplotation movie in the 1970s. It's embarrassing, but the good kind. The kind of embarrassing without a hint of shame, this is so embarrassing, it's heartwarming, infectious, it feels so right. God, Victor loves Yuri so much. 

When Yuri gets up to pour them some water, he notices everything is just slightly damp. Nothing is wet to the touch, but he can tell the table, the pillow, and the tea cups from earlier are not exactly dry either. Yuri worries at first, he thought he'd placed the cabana far enough from the ocean to avoid spray. But, he reminds himself, the sea air is heavy with humidity. 

“Everything is so… sticky.” Yuri muses. 

“Oh yeah?” Victor chuckles. 

Yuri kicks a pillow at him and almost spills their water in the process. 

They venture outside. Victor drapes a blanket over his shoulders, insisting his Russian blood will keep him warm. Yuri dons his sweater. He chooses not to put on underwear, because the top fully covers his front, but Victor makes him regret it by flipping up the back again and again to expose his cheeks to the chilly air. 

Giggling like a fiend, Victor teases, “Why don’t you wear long shirts with nothing underneath at home, dorogoy? Your butt poking out like that is irresistible!” 

“You just answered your own question, mister,” Yuri snatches the back of his sweater down, tucking it under his ass, the fabric bunched in his fists. 

Victor laughs, but it turns into an exaggerated “Brrrrr” as he hops from foot to foot. “The sand is colder than I thought it would be.” 

”What happened to your Russian blood?” 

”You really have to ask?” Victor catches hold of Yuri in a one-armed hug and they look up at the stars together, which is what they came out here to do in the first place.

Yuri is disappointed to find the sky overcast, a wispy blanket of clouds blocking any proper view of the stars. He loves the stars over the ocean.

"Yuu-ri! What's up with you and the pursuit of perfection today?" 

"I think that's just it. I want everything to be perfect for you, even all the things I can't control." 

Victor's arms spread the blanket like a cape to wrap around them both. He pulls Yuri tight and soft against his bare chest, swaddling him in warmth as Victor’s blanket closes out the night air. Yuri nuzzles his cheek side to side on Victor's breast and forgets what he was even worried about. Victor is magic.

They look up at the sky again for a moment, Yuri turns and cranes his neck to rest the back of his head on Victor's shoulder. 

Victor inhales."My favorite part about tonight, Yuri? Even though we can't see the stars right now, we have thousands of nights for the rest of our lives to see them." 

“Mmmhm,” Yuri agrees, melting. Then he grins at himself. "Unless one of us dies tomorrow.”

"Bozhe moi, Yuri!" Victor goes stiff. For a second, Yuri is afraid he's hurt Victor's feelings or spoiled the sappy sweet moment, like he always manages to do. Then Victor chuckles, shaking his head, " _Why would you say that?_ " He clutches Yuri tighter. 

Yuri turns and wraps his arms around Victor's back, nuzzling in hard. "That's just how my mind works, takara." His shoulders shrug. “It helps to make fun of it sometimes, you know?” 

"Well." Victor pinches a cheek of Yuri's ass. "I think I might need to try and fuck that out of you, for tonight at least!"

"Oh sure," Yuri laughs, "If anything can cure me, it's my Dickiforov!" 

Victor gasps. 

"What?” Yuri flexes, squeezing Victor’s chest. “Have you never heard that? Dick-tor Dickiforov?" One of Yuri's hands roams down to tease the member in question. 

"Is that what they call me in porn?" 

Yuri nods, even though he knows it's incriminating as hell to reply in the affirmative. 

"Well,” Victor’s chin tilts up, as if his porn moniker could possibly be dignified. “Then, as your professional Cocktor, I recommend you take two..." 

"Cocktor? Lame. Mine was better!" 

Victor starts tickling him and Yuri shrieks. He tries to get away, but Victor pins him in. His long, powerful arms hold Yuri tight, his hands free to torture. "It's _my_ porn name and I get to decide if it's lame or not!" 

Yuri is thankful he's not as ticklish as he could be. He fights and flinches. He squeals, but it's all mostly for show. Tickling never bothered him that much, really. But there's no need for Victor to know. 

He breaks away at last and dashes for the tent, Victor giving chase behind him. Yuri tosses off his sweater and falls into their bed. Victor spreads his blanket cape wide like a vampire before he leaps atop Yuri and starts mouthing for his throat. The nude bloodsucker makes Yuri laugh far harder than the tickling did.

He pulls Victor’s lips up to his own, sucks Victor’s tongue into his mouth and grinds beneath him. “Your turn, Vitya.” Yuri smiles. 

Some quick repositioning and Yuri's knees are on the tarp-like floor of the tent, Victor's legs spread wide on the mattress and the height of his undercarriage tilted perfectly by a pillow under his back. Yuri kisses down his abs and into the crease of his hips. He follows the delicious, muscular V with his tongue until the fold of flesh dives beneath Victor’s balls. He kisses the base of Victor’s shaft, teasing, and Victor bucks. Yuri’s fingers follow the path between two flexed and perfect cheeks, until he tips the base of the plug. 

“I can’t believe you’ve worn this all day,” Yuri marvels. “Even when you were fucking me.” He skates his fingertips in tight little circles over the flat disc, feeling it dip and tilt ever so slightly with his touch. Victor pitches and moans.

“I like being full when I fill you,” Victor whispers. Yuri pushes on the plug like he’s pressing a very large ‘on’ button, over and over, playful, silly, like a kid with a new toy. Victor chuckles and squirms, but his voice is frustrated when he rasps: “Maybe I wanted to skip as much of the pregame as possible?” Victor reaches for the base of the toy. Yuri swats his hand away.

Before Victor can grumble, Yuri’s mouth swallows the head of his cock, sucking it free from his foreskin, while his fingers do a two-step on the dancefloor of the plug’s base. When Yuri looks up, Victor’s head is thrown back; he imagines he can see the unvoiced complaints clogging Victor’s lean, craning throat. With a longing suck, Yuri laves his way up and off. His own cock is ready to go. Yuri reaches for the familiar plug, expertly guiding it out. Replacing the toy with his fingers is a swifter and smoother trick than Victor seems to have expected. Yuri catches Victor when he pushes up to meet him. Yuri kisses Victor’s collar and works him until he feels comfortable pulling out his fingers and repositioning Victor on his back, ass a bit higher than before. Yuri’s knees are on the bed now; he settles between Victor’s legs. Yuri’s cock slides up the length of Victor's cheeks, curving neatly between them.

Victor's body fits nicely like this, his own member pressed into Yuri's stomach, his scrotum resting on the base of Yuri's dick. Victor rocks in this perineum swing made by the body of his lover, rocks Yuri's length deeper between his cheeks, getting comfortable with it. Yuri is shaking. His cock jolts when Victor passes his quivering dimple of muscle directly, flesh to flesh, along the shaft. Yuri can't handle the need of it, nails digging crescents into Victor's outer thighs.

“Now Vitya?”

“Da, Yuri.” Victor grins. 

Yuri meant to take it slow, but it’s so easy to sink right in. Once Yuri’s fully slotted all the way inside his lover for the first time, he looks up. Victor's eyes are closed and his lips curled tightly together. For a moment, Yuri's afraid. Then Victor lets everything out all at once in a gasp that pops his eyes open. He looks up and Yuri has never seen anything like it. It's not love, adoration, vulnerability, or even lust, it's the face of new experience, new sensation, the kind of face people have when they see something awe inspiring for the first time. He’s sure he made a face like this when he saw Victor win the Junior Worlds. Of course. Yuri chides himself for fanboying at a time like this. He refocuses.

He can see behind Victor's eyes, somehow. Because they are joined like this, he can see further, deeper. He realizes, as his own eyes come back to clarity, that Victor must be seeing Yuri in exactly the same way, and he smiles. Victor smiles back, both are silly toothless, childlike grins, that melt upward into their eyes. 

“Hold me, Yurachka,” Victor shudders beneath him. Yuri bends down as much as he can, wraps his arms under Victor’s back, to pull him up enough to be properly embraced like this. Victor hitches and bows as the repositioning shifts Yuri inside of him. Trying to hide, he turns his face to the pillow. “This is so… stupid…” Victor coughs a smile, shutting his eyes, his body attempting to control the ripples of soft shivers. “Like I’m some kid….”

“Shhhh,” Yuri whispers into his cheek, “Takara,” against his ear. Yuri holds him closer, flexes inside him. “It _is_ your first time like this,” Yuri says as though he didn’t really believe it until just now.

Victor hmphs a laugh, facing him to brush their lips together. “Well, not exactly,” he winks.

“The closet _does not_ count,” Yuri’s lips pucker into a soft, chaste kiss.

Victor nods, smiling playfully, and kisses “It counts,” onto Yuri’s jaw.

“Oh yeah?” Yuri’s hands slide up Victor’s spine to clutch the top of each shoulder. He pumps his hips once, twice, gripping Victor when his body tries to rock away with the shock of it.

Victor’s head flings back, mouth gasps out Yuri’s name.

Yuri stills himself, though he throbs inside Victor. Yuri kisses the column of his neck, hand catching the base of Victor’s skull, as though it might roll away. Victor’s adam’s apple bobs beneath Yuri’s tongue. It feels like he’s trying to say something, but can’t form words. Finally, Victor’s head lolls upright to face him again. His eyes are spacey and dazed. Victor’s already so affected, Yuri can’t wait to wreck him once they really get going. 

Then Victor smiles, “This is better,” he pants, “but the other still counts.”

Yuri shakes his head, knows a request for more when he hears it. “Help me find your sweet spot, takara,” he whispers and Victor whines. Yuri tilts his hips in the general direction, his shaft canting within Victor’s walls.

Victor shimmies in Yuri’s lap, making his cock waggle on Yuri’s stomach and when Yuri giggles, Victor huffs. “It’s different,” he smiles, a wet curve of soft lips. “Trying to find it with you…”

Yuri pulls back, still angled just so, dragging his cockhead down the channel as he withdraws, methodical and malicious. Victor hisses. And Yuri pushes back in, pressing for that spot until Victor hisses again and jolts. Yuri smiles, kissing his throat again. “There you are, Vitya.” 

Victor clutches around Yuri’s hips with his thighs, panting and moaning “Yuri, Yuri, yes.”

This time, when Yuri rocks out and back in, he lays Victor down on the bed again, beneath him, steadying them both. His hands find Victor’s hips and he helps them sway, so their bodies roll together, soft and smooth. 

Victor drinks in the lovemaking, grounded in Yuri’s gentleness. He feels languid, as loose as when he floated on the sea earlier today. Victor stills Yuri with a hand on his shoulder so he can experiment. Bracing his feet, pushing into the mattress, Victor pumps his hips, lifts and drops himself just enough to feel the pull. He does it again, fucking himself slow on Yuri’s dick, until every synapse screams, flooding his senses with _need_. Yuri’s breath is ragged with restraint. Victor’s eyes lock with Yuri’s, his fingers grip under his lover’s chin, demanding and almost aggressive. Victor utters a syllable with all his authority: “Move.” 

Yuri’s face darkens, his smile devious. “Hai, Victor.”

Victor swears the waves outside crash in time with Yuri’s hips. Victor’s orgasm is a similar torrent. Rhythmic and unstoppable, coursing and pounding. He whites out a moment, seeing nothing. There is so little of the physical left to be felt in his first time. His mind and senses are distilling other little details outside of himself. There’s a desperate vulnerability in being so opened up, so necessary to bring his lover off. It’s there in the way Yuri’s temple has a tiny crinkle that Victor’s never quite seen constrained just so. 

When Yuri comes, it’s unlike any other time. Victor is perfect. Victor is perfection inside and out, the smell of Victor’s hot cum between their bodies, his senses bathe in it as he shudders and fills his beloved. 

They come down abruptly, flopping onto the bed in a sticky mess of emotion. They laugh and lay on each other. Victor sheds a few happy, disbelieving tears. He’s not an anal virgin anymore! Well, he wasn’t, not since the billiard closet, but they did it. They did Yuri’s big romantic scheme! They finished the Barcelona bet! There was so much leading up to this and now it’s done and Victor can’t stop smiling. His cheeks actually hurt. 

Yuri floats in a happy haze of disoriented reality. In all his wildest Victor fantasies, he never dreamed he’d be Victor’s first in any capacity. They drink water. So much water, they laugh at each other’s dribbling lines of fluid flowing down their chins and chests. 

“Yuri, are you still hard?” Victor stares. That cock is ready to go again.

Yuri ducks his chin, bites his bottom lip, blushing so beautifully. Victor dives on him, wrapping his arms around Yuri’s neck.

“Turn me over this time, dorogoy,” Victor whispers in his ear. “I want to feel you behind me, hard and fast, the way you like it.”

Was ever a man flipped onto his stomach faster than Yuri Katsuki tossed Victor Nikiforov onto his? Victor’s bites his smile into his pillow, too excited to speak. Yuri kisses down his spine, one hand fastened beneath Victor, fingers smoothing over his nipple and pinching the tip of it, in turn. Victor opens easy, wet and waiting, as Yuri drives a couple freshly-lubed digits home to test his readiness.

Yuri feels Victor pull forward, ever so slightly, when he enters him this time. Victor’s body tenses.

“You okay?” Yuri stops, holding Victor tighter, kissing a firm plane of muscle on his upper back. 

“F-fine,” Victor exhales before he relaxes. He’s fine. It’s fine. Just a little pinch.

Yuri’s shaft slides all the way home and Victor settles, breathing ragged under him. Yuri angles once or twice, trying to help Victor feel comfortable with the position while also looking for his spot again. 

“Ah-a-ah-a!” Victor’s breath cries out.

There it is. Yuri responds by pulling back just a hair and driving into the place he found. This angle feels weird. But then. Damn, it’s been so long since Yuri topped from behind and Victor _feels so good_ like this, ass rounded into Yuri’s pelvis. A sloppy wetness smears their joining. A dribble reaches Yuri’s balls, which throb in acknowledgment of a wild sex dream come true. Victor is prone and perfect under him, ready to be pounded face-first into the mattress. Yuri draws back, steady and slow, hoping Victor will order him to ‘move’ soon.

Victor grits his teeth, tries not to make a sound, make it obvious, make it stop. He doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t want to stop! But when Yuri thrusts _for real_ , Victor’s entire being sobs “Stop!”

Yuri freezes.

Victor feels Yuri’s poor heart pulsing a mad tempo everywhere through his skin and even inside. Victor swallows. He wets his lips. But then he’s shaking. He’s so embarrassed, he’s fucking shaking! His throat constricts and _this is so stupid!_

“Shhh,” Yuri hushes and pets a hand down Victor’s side.

Victor doesn’t want coddling! He can do this. “I can do this.” Victor growls. And he’s not about to cry. He’s not. Because they’re not about to stop.

Yuri makes a trepidatious show of sitting up. He steadies a warm palm on Victor’s tailbone.

“Don’t…” Victor mouths, but it stings and pinches again when Yuri withdraws as gingerly as possible. Victor’s fists curl in the sheets and he’s _angry._ “I didn’t want you to stop!” he snarls, without moving, too embarrassed to face Yuri.

“Vitya…” Yuri whispers, leans over him.

“But I want to do it for you.” His voice cracks and Yuri’s heart stings. “What you do for me!” His hips move beneath Yuri in an imitation of the way Yuri fucks Victor wild from beneath him.

“Shh, shh, love, takara Vitya,” Yuri soothes. He rolls Victor over, petting down his sides. “You will. You will.” Stroking nails in Victor’s scalp, he coos “It takes practice and time and knowing what angles are good for you.”

Victor sniffles. Yuri cups his cheek, thumb stroking up from Victor’s nose to his eye socket and back again as those darling lips quiver and try not to pout.

“How bad does it hurt?” Yuri kisses the crease between his eyebrows.

Victor shakes his head. “Doesn’t,” he moans. “It was just a tiny sting.” He swallows. “Mm. Embarrassed.” 

“Don’t be, it happens to…”

“No, not because it happened,” Victor sighs. “But it was that _same_ little fold we caught wrong with that ridgey dildo, remember?” Victor grabs Yuri’s hand and guides his fingers down to feel the little nubby crinkle that’s stretched just slightly out of place now. “I’m pissed it didn’t bother me before, but it did in this position.”

“We can work around that in the future.” Yuri massages the offensive tissue with two of his fingers. 

Victor clears his throat, his voice gravelly with determination, “Yuri, I don’t want to stop now.” There’s a fierce, masculine bravado in his features, his tone, that sends bolts to Yuri’s dick. When it jolts, Victor’s smile turns cocky.

“Even when I’m a mess, I mess you up, hmm?” He purrs. “What about …” and without finishing his sentence, he manhandles Yuri, flipping and straddling him.

Yuri gets excited about being filled again for a second when Victor rises up on his knees to realign his slick, drippy hole with Yuri’s head. 

“Oh,” Yuri breathes. “Good idea.” And Yuri paws around in the sheets for the lube. Finding it, he hands it up to Victor. “Don’t hurt yourself, takara. Try something new and get comfortable.” Victor rolls his lubed forefinger over the stingy spot until it feels normal. Yuri can see his features relax. “This time, I won’t thrust unless you tell me.”

Victor’s self-assured smile makes Yuri wish he could regain confidence half as quickly after crying in embarrassment.

“Take it slow, Vitya,” he warns, and then chokes as Victor glides him all the way in, root to tip, in one smooth stroke. When Yuri looks up, Victor sits still and smug. “Stubborn Russian,” Yuri flicks Victor’s nipple, hitting it just right with his fingernail. “Don’t think I didn’t feel you wince.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Victor gasps. Then he flips his hair and flashes his best press smile. “I stuck the landing.”

Yuri snorts and thinks of a half dozen jokes about how Victor never listens to his coaches, but he’s too overcome to say any of them.

Victor beams when Yuri’s thumb rolls affection onto the flicked nipple, his fingers clutching around Victor’s upper ribs. “So thoughtful, Yurachka.” And he pulls Yuri’s other hand up to plant a kiss there. He experiments with this new position, staying seated, but rocking Yuri side to side within him. He sighs, “You feel so good, detka.”

“Not half as good as you look up there,” Yuri’s hand trails down to ghost over Victor’s gorgeous engorged cock.

Victor preps a comeback that’s lost when Yuri teases the slit of his cock, pasting his fingertip in precum.

“Now,” Yuri smiles. “Move.” 

Victor likes riding Yuri more than anything they’ve done so far. He’s slow and awkward until he finds his rhythm and then throws his skater thighs and abs into it. At first, he shows off and only does this for the way it makes Yuri writhe and flex. But then! Oh, how Victor gets into a devastating groove. He bobs until he can’t support himself anymore. He’s delighted and so very grateful when Yuri starts bucking beneath him. Yuri clasps his hands to steady him and gets Victor _really_ riding.

When Victor comes, it’s not mind-blowing like before. It’s good, comforting, satisfying. He watches the curious new angle of his cumming cock, astride his lover, and grips himself at the end to direct the last spurts at the smooth arch of Yuri’s ribcage. Meanwhile, his lover looks wrecked, his thrusts gone quaky and disjointed. Yuri’s cock feels fat inside. And Victor feels so proud of himself. He can’t wait to do this again!

Yuri’s had a few back-to-back orgasms due to Victor’s talented cock, hands, and mouth. But this time feels new and glorious. His vision winks in blinding flashes of stars that pulse until he closes his eyes. 

\-----------

Victor and Yuri emerge from the tent before dawn. The sky is starry, the clouds have cleared, and the inky horizon is threatened with budding sunlight from many angles. They sip last night’s tea, still warm in its heavy insulated thermos. Yuri wants to bring out some chairs, but Victor insists sitting in the sand. He takes their big, beach-towel-blankets and drapes one over each of their shoulders. He ties his at the neck like a 10-year-old tying a bed sheet over their shoulders to play superhero. Then he demonstrates to Yuri by unfurling it so that the bottom tucks beneath his butt. He promptly plops down in the sand, sitting on the tail of his towel cape. It looks like Victor has made a teepee out of himself, with his head poking out of the top of the ridiculously fluorescent blanket that cones around his tall body. Yuri emulates him, even though he knows they look ridiculous. Two little bundles of towel with man heads, sitting crossed legged in the sand, but Victor was right. This is comfortable. He leans onto Victor's shoulder. The stars evaporate into dull lavender above a slate gray sea; the sun takes much longer to rise than Yuri realized. 

Yuri smirks with a sudden, silly thought. “I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve had sex.”

“Last night?” Victor rests his chin in Yuri’s hair. “Four times.”

Yuri snickers. “I remember those, but overall, since Barcelona, I’ve lost count.” He snuggles in closer. Then he pretends to huff. “I only know you’ve topped more than I have.”

Victor reaches into Yuri’s towel teepee and he wraps an arm around Yuri’s torso. “Don’t worry.” Victor’s long fingers glide into the divots between Yuri’s ribs. “You’ll catch up, Yurachka.” He dusts grains of sand from Yuri’s hipbone. “All you need is practice.”

“Lucky I have a good coach,” Yuri jibes. 

Yuri pets a hand down Victor’s cheek, a tenderness Victor feels in his knees again, like he did in Barcelona. Victor closes his eyes, like the first time. Yuri tilts their foreheads together.

“Da, Yuri.” Victor smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a Twitter devoted solely to YOI [Twitter @Sintinas](https://twitter.com/Sintinas) and it makes me happy.


End file.
